Unknown
by Lament
Summary: Speed's personal life begins to crumble while working on a case. SpeedEric slash. SpeedHoratio friendship. Chapter 18 is up. Tim and Mark get a visit.
1. Unknown

Title: Unknown

Disclaimer: Not mine. Not making any money.

Spoilers: None yet. Take place after "Innocent," but no references to the episode.

Warnings: This will eventually be Speed/Eric slash. If that bothers you, you might want to pass this up. Also, there will be references in later chapters to domestic violence.

Author's Notes: This will eventually be Speed/Eric slash. However, I will also concentrate a fair amount on the friendship between Speed and Horatio. Basically, this is primarily Speed's story. The slash is integral to the story, but the prime focus is on Speed and his conflicts.

Chapter 1

-----

Leaning against the cold metal of my locker, I shut my eyes tightly, trying and failing to ward off the throbbing in my head.

We just wrapped up a case today. An old woman was found murdered in her sewing room, shot. I felt bad for her husband, a sweet little old man. When I first arrived on scene a few days ago, he stood there, tears running down his face, telling me he'd lost his love, and that life wasn't worth living anymore.

And I believed him. Me, the team cynic.

Turns out, the grieving husband had shot his wife of forty years because he's in love with the woman who gives violin lessons to his grandson. What the hell? Whatever happened to leaving someone if you don't love them?

Shaking my head, I slam the ball of my hand into my locker. Damn. Not the smartest thing I've ever done. Now I have a nasty pain in my hand to go with the one in my head.

Suddenly, Eric appears beside me. "Hey," he says cheerfully, "what'd that locker do to you?"

I just glare at him, as I massage my aching hand.

Eric gets the message and shrugging, turns to his own locker. Singing to himself, he pulls out some belongings, and then swings the locker door closed.

Then, as if suddenly inspired, he reaches out and pats me on the shoulder. "Hey. Cal and I are grabbing a bite to eat. We're thinking seafood. Wanna come with?"

Honestly, I don't know how they do it. I don't know how they can just pack away the events of the day and scurry off to eat seafood at some trendy hotspot.

I just want to crawl home and lie in bed until my head stops pounding.

"No thanks," I say, shaking my head.

"Oh, come on," Eric coaxes. "What are you going to do? Sit alone and brood?"

"Maybe I have plans," I say, sounding a little more hurt than I intended.

Eric smiles as if he just found out it's Christmas. "You have plans? With who?"

I'm pretty sure Eric thinks I'm making the whole thing up, but I really do have plans. And considering how late I've been working the past week, I'd better not show up late tonight.

"None of your business," I say.

"No," he grins. "You've got to give me something. Who is this mystery lady?"

Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. This conversation is taking me somewhere I don't want to go. Especially not with Eric. I've managed to keep Mark a secret for months. I don't think I can handle this thing I have with him becoming public knowledge right now.

I stand there for a long moment, not saying anything. Pretty soon, I hear footsteps padding toward us. I'm guessing it's H, but I don't turn around to find out. Even though I know better, I'm hoping he'll ignore me.

"Hi guys," H says amiably. He turns and gazes at me, as if he's sizing me up. "Did I hear something about a mystery lady?"

Before I can answer, Eric says, "Speedle here has a new love in his life."

"I said I had plans," I snap, "I never said I had a girlfriend."

I must have sounded a little harsher than I meant to, because both H and Eric and staring at me.

Finally, Eric smiles warmly. "Sorry, man. If you change your mind, I've got my cell phone."

I feel terrible letting Eric walk away. As lousy as I feel, it'd be nice to go out for a while. Eric and I don't hang out as much as we used to, and as cheesy as it sounds, I miss him.

H and I watch Eric disappear out the door. Then, H turns to me and says, "So, Speed. How are you doing?"

I bite my bottom lip. I'm on thin ice with H right now. My nerves have been frayed lately, and so I've been what Calleigh calls, "surlier than usual." During this last case, I very nearly got into a shouting match with our victim's son when he found out we were going to charge his father with murder. I wound up in Horatio's office for that one. Not to mention I've called off work more these last two months than I've called off my whole career.

I shrug. "I'm fine."

Undeterred, he says, "This was a rough case, huh?"

"They're all rough, y'know?"

"Yes. Yes they are." H puts his hands on his hips. "Listen," he says. "I was wondering if you want to grab some dinner. We can talk."

A heart-to-heart with Horatio Caine. This I don't need.

"Actually, H," I say, "I do have plans. I wasn't making that up."

He smiles. "All right then. But listen," he says quietly, "if you decide you want to talk, let me know."

As I watch him leave, I'm tempted to stop him, tell him I've changed my mind. But instead, I let out a long breath and get ready to head off to meet Mark.


	2. Victim

Title: Unknown

Chapter 2

Warnings: This is slash. Also, there are/will be references to domestic violence.

-----

"You should've seen this guy, Speed. Calleigh practically had him in tears."

Delko came in to work completely jazzed about his great evening last night. Apparently, he and Calleigh went club-hopping after dinner. I can't picture Calleigh in the middle of a techno dance club, but Eric swears it happened. So he's been reliving it for me all morning.

"Y'know?"

I stare blankly at Delko. "What?"

He grimaces. "I said you need to come out with us this weekend. Calleigh's interested in the whole club thing now. She says it's great people-watching."

Staring purposefully at a stray piece of wilted lettuce from my sandwich, I say, "I don't know. Maybe."

Frowning, Eric asks, "What's been wrong with you lately? You're living like a hermit."

"I said maybe," I snap.

Eric ignores me and presses on. "I mean, yeah, I get the whole loner routine. I know you like to go home and read or whatever, but you used to grace us with your presence once in a while."

Biting my bottom lip, I say, "I might have plans. Get off my back."

Actually, I should probably be happy Delko's being such a pain in the ass about my not coming around. It's good to know someone gives a damn.

"Okay," Eric says with a frustrated sigh, "well, can you pencil me in next month? There's this Cuban band playing at a little dive I know."

I take a bite of my sandwich, and then I return my attention to the now balled-up piece of lettuce. "I don't know, Delko. I want to. It's just…I can't make any promises." I shrug and lean back against my seat, wincing as the back of my shoulder connects with the chair

Narrowing his eyes, Eric asks, "You okay?"

"Slept wrong," I say quickly, scooting forward so my sore shoulder isn't pressing against the chair. "I'm a little stiff."

Just then, H and Calleigh breeze into the break room. H is in full CSI mode, so I'm guessing we have a body somewhere.

"Okay, people," H says. "I'm sorry to interrupt your lunches, but we have a two dbs." He looks intently at me, and then he glances at Delko and Calleigh. I can see where this is going. "All right. All right, let's do this: Eric, you and Calleigh work together. Calleigh will fill you in. Speed, you're with me."

I nod. Figures. H wants me with him, where he can keep an eye on me.

As Eric and I dump our leftovers and plates into the trash, Calleigh walks up to me. "Tim, you missed a fun night."

"Delko said you made a guy cry," I say.

She smiles, a trace of pride ghosting across her face. "Well, he wouldn't take no for an answer."

As Calleigh and I chat, H walks up. "Let's get going, Speed. Alexx is meeting us on the scene."

Eric grins. "Oh, I see. You guys get Alexx. Who are we stuck with?"

Smiling, H says, "Good luck, guys. Keep me posted."

-----

Half an hour later, H and I arrive at the scene, an upscale suburban house with a manicured lawn.

As we step out of the Hummer, H turns to me. "So, how was last night?"

"Fine," I say.

"What did you wind up doing?" H asks casually.

Licking my bottom lip, I say, "Actually, I went home and crashed."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

H and I bypass a small crowd of curious neighbors and enter the house. The vic is in the kitchen, sprawled next the stove. Alexx is crouching next to the body, observing the wound. When she notices H and me, she smiles. "Hi, guys. Just in time. I'm about done." She turns to the body and shakes her head. "Poor thing. You probably just got your license."

"Cause of death?" H asks, bending over to get a closer look.

Standing up awkwardly, Alexx says, "Massive blood loss. He was stabbed twice in the back, once in the abdomen. His parents went to Tallahassee for a few days, so they didn't get home until this morning. By then, their baby had bled out."

I walk over and scan the counter. One knife is missing from the knife block. It could be in the dishwasher, but it could also be our murder weapon. "Hey, H," I say. "Missing knife."

"All right," he says, "Check out the kitchen. See if it turns up. And check out the others for blood."

"I'm on it."

As I gingerly pull each of the remaining knives out of the block to test them for blood, Frank Tripp walks up. He nods to both H and me, and then, exhaling, he says, "Our db is Brendan Carver. He was a Junior in high school. Sang in the choir."

"Any witnesses?" H asks.

"No one saw anything," Tripp says.

"Figures," I mumble to myself.

H glances at me, and then turns back to Tripp. "Did Brendan have any enemies?"

"Not according to the parents. Mom and Dad said he had a lot of friends. Said he had a girlfriend." Tripp flips open his memo pad. "Her name is Maggie Donahue. Lives about four blocks from here."

"Okay," H says, placing his hands on his hips, "We'll have to talk to her. Speed, how are the knives coming?"

"No blood on the remaining knives," I say. "No sign of the missing one. It's not in the dishwasher or the sink."

"All right, Speed. Keep looking." He turns to Tripp. "Any sign of forced entry?"

Tripp shakes his head. "No. And no open windows. When the parents got home, the back door was unlocked. They said that was unusual."

"So, it's possible that Brendan knew his killer. Maybe he had a friend over, and maybe he argued with his friend."

Shrugging, Tripp says, "And maybe he came home, forgot to lock the door. I have to get on my kids about the door all the time. 'Course…it doesn't look like anything's missing. That rules out robbery."

Closing the last drawer, I trudge over to H and Tripp. "No knife. I tested a letter opener, a couple of pie servers, and a broken bottle I found in the trash. No sign of blood, but I want to take the bottle back to the lab."

"Bag it," H says.

-----

Two hours later, H and I arrived back at the lab. We found no sign of the missing knife, but we did find drops of blood heading out the back door. They're gravitational drops, so the bleeder was probably standing. By the time Brendan Carver was stabbed, he was in no shape to walk around, so we're guessing the bleeder is also the killer. Probably cut himself while he or she was killing Carver.

We also found several footprints in the back yard. Most of them are pretty degraded, but we got two good ones. One footprint belonged to our vic. The other, however, is from a size 12 athletic shoe. I matched it to one of the trendier basketball shoes—definitely something a kid would wear. Not just any kid—a jock.

"Hey!"

I jump a little bit, startled. "Would you not do that, Delko."

Eric grins. "It's not my fault you get so wrapped up in your work." Tapping his watch, he says, "Shift's over. H says to wrap up whatever you're doing, get out of here, and relax."

"H says that?" I say suspiciously.

Eric nods. "Come on. Let's grab dinner." He holds up his hand when I start to argue. "You know you need to relax when a workaholic like H tells you to go home."

Delko's not going to drop this. If I go out for a quick bite to eat, maybe that'll pacify him.

"Come on," he says. "We threw out most of our lunch."

Exhaling, I lean forward on the counter. "I'm not going clubbing afterward."

Grinning victoriously, Eric says, "Just food. I'll get you home, tucked in bed before you know it."

"Smart ass," I say with mock-irritation. "Wait for me in the lobby. I have to lock up this evidence."


	3. Defenses

Title: Unknown

Chapter 3

Warnings: Slash, domestic abuse. Nothing graphic, but it's in there.

Author's Notes: A word about Speed's POV in this chapter: Please remember that he is **not** in a good state of mind. Much of his logic regarding his situation is **flawed**!

-----

"So, tell me you'll think about the Cuban band."

Eric looks hopefully at me while he twists the last of his fettuccine onto his fork. He takes the forkful of pasta, dips it into what's left of his salad dressing, and then shovels the whole concoction into his mouth.

"Why do you do that?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

"Why do I do what?" Eric asks.

"Why do you dip your fettuccine into your salad dressing?" I point at the empty salad plate. "I've been trying to figure that out all night."

Grinning, Eric leans back in his chair. "It's good. I don't know. I've done that since I was a kid."

I shake my head. "The fettuccine has sauce on it already."

Eric laughs. "I'm glad we did this, Speed," he says. "It's good to have you around to ask the important questions."

"Funny," I say.

I'm glad we did this, too, though. I've missed spending time with Eric. I've missed everybody actually. I mean, I've never exactly been a social butterfly, but it's nice to just hang out and relax with friends once in a while.

Taking a sip of my lemonade, I glance at my watch. Cool. I've still got a little while before Mark gets home.

"Why do _you_ do _that_?" Eric asks.

I let out a breath. "I'm meeting somebody later. Don't worry. I have plenty of time."

"So," Eric says slowly. "Who are you meeting? I mean, you've been hinting around that there's someone special. When are we going to meet this person?"

Licking my bottom lip, I say, "All right. You win. I'm seeing someone." I pop a piece of pepper into my mouth and say, "I'm just not ready to go public."

"That's cool," Eric says. "I've just been trying to figure out what's been going on with you."

"Nothing's been going on with me. I'm fine."

Eric opens his mouth as if he's going to disagree, but instead, he nods. "Okay," he says. "So, the Cuban band?"

I raise my eyebrows. "If I say I'll go with you, will you stop bugging me?"

Eric grins. "If you don't, I'll bug you mercilessly all month." He reaches across the table, and smacks my arm. "I need you with me, so I look even hotter to all the ladies, you know?"

"So, I'm a date-getter?" I say, fighting the temptation to smile.

"The term is 'wing-man'," he says proudly.

It's times like these I start to question my relationship with Mark. Don't get me wrong. I love him, and I know he loves me. But when I'm with Eric, I feel almost free, like I can do no wrong. With Mark, I sometimes feel like I'm walking on eggshells. Most of the time, he's great, but sometimes…

Granted, most of that's my doing, though. Like last night…I knew he'd had a hard day, and I should've given him more attention. But I was tired and sore, and I wasn't there for him. It wasn't his fault he lost his temper with me. Still, he called me this morning to apologize even though he didn't have to.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I were with Eric instead of Mark. Okay, that's dangerous thinking. I'm pretty sure Eric is totally straight. But even if he wasn't, there are so many reasons why it would never work. For one thing, I don't think I could stand to let my guard down around Eric. I try really hard keep my defenses up around everyone, but especially Eric. I couldn't stand to look weak to him.

I feel my cell phone vibrate, so I pull it out of my pocket.

Mark.

"Hang on a sec," I say to Eric, and then into the phone, I say, "Hey."

"Hey!" Mark says cheerfully, "You still at work?"

I shift in my seat. "I'm on my way home. I missed lunch, so I stopped to get something."

"Oh," he says. "Okay. Well, I just got to your place. Want me to meet you?"  
  
"No, I'm about done." The last thing I need is for Mark to find me with Eric.  
  
"Well, we could go out or something. How about a movie?"

"I'm really tired," I say. "I'll just come home."

Mark is dead silent for a long couple of seconds. Finally, he asks, "Are you with someone?"

I take in a deep breath, and then exhale. "Yeah, a co-worker."

"So, you're not _that_ tired," Mark says evenly.

"I'm on my way home," I say. "If you want to go to a movie…"

I glance up at Eric, who's watching me intently.

Mark lets out a frustrated sigh. "I just don't understand why you were trying to hide it from me. I mean, I'd love to meet your friends."

"I know," I try to soothe, "I just…I've had a hard day. New case."

Mark understands what I do for a living. I'd just been through an emotionally-draining case when we met, so he saw me when I was really vulnerable. Because of that, I can sometimes get a little slack if I tell him I'm having problems at work.

After a long pause, Mark says, "We'll talk about this when you get home, all right?"

"All right."

Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I keep my eyes down, trying to avoid Eric's gaze.

Swallowing, I bite my bottom lip. Mark's tone of voice is unreadable. I can't tell if he's still upset with me, or if he's concerned about my hard day at work. I guess I'll find out when I get home.

"Hey, Delko," I say, still averting my eyes, "I have to get home."

"You all right?" Eric asks, concern lacing his voice.

"Yeah." I point at the phone. "Got off early. We're going to do something."

"Okay, man," he says.

As I walk toward the counter to pay my bill, Eric calls after me. "Hey, Tim."

"Yeah?"

"You need anything, you call me, all right? Day or night."

We lock eyes for a second, and I almost think he knows the truth. Breaking Eric's gaze, I say, "Thanks, Delko. But I'm a big boy."


	4. Lies

Title: Unknown

Chapter 4

Warnings: Slash, domestic abuse. This is the chapter in which we meet Mark.

Author's Notes: Again, Speed is in a fragile state of mind. Much of his logic regarding his situation is **flawed**.

-----

"Tim, let me in." Mark knocks softly on the bathroom door. "I know you're bleeding."

Whose fault is that?

I'm sitting on the bathroom floor with my back pressed up against the locked door. Glancing down at the already-darkening bruise on my right wrist, I gingerly twist it around to make sure it's not broken. Slowly, my gaze drifts to my other arm. A small but bleeding gash on my forearm is throbbing pretty good now. I should probably put something on it, but I don't have the energy to move.

After a few moments, Mark knocks on the door again. "Tim, say something so I know you're okay."

I'm not okay. How can I say I'm okay?

"I'm okay, Mark," I mumble.

I hear Mark let out a sigh of…relief? "Let me in so I can see your arm," he says quietly.

"Just need a minute," I say, "Gotta…figure some things out."

"Tim."

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry, Tim," Mark says, his voice shaking. "I never meant to hurt you."

I want to tell him to get the hell out of my apartment, but instead, I hear myself say, "I know. It's not your fault."

Almost against my will, I drag my body into a standing position and open the door.

Mark immediately reaches out, scoops me into his muscled arms, and squeezes me tight. "I'm so sorry," he says, burying his face in my neck. "I didn't mean to do this."

I let myself go slack against Mark's body. I'm so tired. It's like I don't have an ounce of energy left. All I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep. I don't care about my arm, or Mark, or my career. I just want to sleep.

Releasing me from his embrace, Mark nudges me into the bathroom. "Let's get you cleaned up," he says.

"Okay," I mumble.

I stand completely in a daze while Mark cleans my wound. He washes the cut, puts some kind of cream on it, and then rummages around my closet for some gauze. As he wraps my arm, he yammers on about how we're both overworked and he only gets jealous because he loves me.

Whatever.

I don't know. Maybe Mark's right. I just came off a rough case, and he works long hours. We're bound to be on edge. Besides, I know I'd get jealous if I found out Mark was having dinner with a good-looking co-worker.

"You know, Tim," Mark says, "I think we're going to have to go to the ER. This cut's bleeding pretty bad. You're gonna need some stitches."

I nod, "Okay."

Mark pulls a tissue from the box sitting on the hamper and dabs at his eyes. "Tim, I'm so sorry. I know I have a temper—"

I cut him off, "It's all right. You were hurt."

Taking a step forward, Mark places a hand on each of my shoulders. "It's not going to happen again, Tim," he says, his voice cracking. "This is the last time."

And I believe him.

---

Mark and I were at the ER most of the night. They were packed, so we had to wait for what seemed like days. Finally, Mark went over to the receptionist and got in her face. He told her that his boyfriend was bleeding, and someone needed to get it in gear and do something before he bled to death.

That must've rattled their cages, because they ushered me into back and sewed up my arm.

I got the usual array of questions. How did I hurt my arm? Where did all the bruises come from? Did I want Mark to leave the room?

Mark told them I'd been working on my bike when it tipped over on me. Or something. I don't remember. The whole thing seems surreal.

We finally got home about an hour ago. Mark made me a bite to eat while I vegged out on the couch.

Now, we're just sitting here, neither of us saying anything. I hate it when it's like this.

"Mark," I say, shattering the uncomfortable silence, "I have to get ready for work."

"You're exhausted," he says, "We were at that damn hospital all night."

"Yeah. Yeah, but we started a new case. I gotta go in, y'know?"

"Listen," Mark says, kissing me on the cheek, "Why don't we play hooky from work today? We can get some sleep, and then hit a few bookstores, eat at that BBQ place I was telling you about."

H will kill me if I call off work again. "I don't know. We just started a case."

Mark nudges me. "C'mon," he coaxes, "We need to spend some time together. I'm sorry about last night. I just…" He trails off.

I stare a Mark's puppy-dog eyes and finally let out a breath. "Okay. Hand me my cell."

After Mark hands me my phone, I dial the number for headquarters. The new girl at the front desk—Meg?—answers.

"Yeah," I say, "This is Tim Speedle. I want to leave a message for Horatio Caine."

"Would you like me to transfer you?"

I shift uncomfortably. "Ah, I don't think so. Just tell him I'm not feeling well today, and I won't be coming in."

"Umm…" she says cautiously, "I'm going to have to transfer you."

Damn. I can usually get away with just talking to whoever's at the desk.

After a moment's silence, H picks up. "Caine," he says.

"Hey, it's me," I say, wincing at the sound of H's voice.

"Hey, Speed," he says pleasantly. "What's up?"

I glance at Mark, who's staring hopefully at me. "I won't be in today."

"What's up?" H asks. His tone of voice is gentle, but I detect a note of disappointment.

"I'm not feeling well," I say. Which isn't untrue. I feel like crap.

"Well, I really need you here, Speed."

"I know," I say. "But…I'm nauseous and I have a fever."

I hate lying to H.

"How high?"

"103."

H clears his throat. "Have you been to a doctor?"

"Yeah," I say. That's true. I just didn't see him for a fever. "Actually, I went to the ER."

"What did the doctor say?"

Licking my bottom lip, I say, "That I need to rest. And I should drink lots of fluids."

"Okay," he says, sounding unconvinced. "Do you want someone to stop by? Go to the pharmacy for you or anything?"

"No," I say, "I'm good. I went there after I went to the ER."

"Good," H sighs, "Well, I'll call later. See how you're doing."

-----

After we got some sleep, Mark and I rummaged around several Miami-area bookstores, finally winding up at one of my favorite used book shops. Mark bought me a biography and an old archeology textbook. "What? Changing careers?" He laughed.

Mark can be a lot of fun. And he can be the gentlest person in the world. Most of the time.

Now, Mark and I are at a BBQ place near the beach. He's been telling me about this place for a while. It's cool. It's got those beamed ceilings and the chairs are comfortable. No verdict on the food yet. We're still waiting.

"Are you glad we did this?" Mark asks.

I smile. "Yeah. It's been fun."

Just then, I feel my phone vibrate. I figure it's H, checking up on me.

"Hey, Speed," the voice on the other end says, "How are you feeling?"

I was right. It's Horatio.

"I'm feeling kind of sick," I say. "Headache."

"Maybe I should come by," he says, "Bring you something."

"Uh…no," I say quickly, "I'm just gonna see if I can sleep. I'm feeling better than I was."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Are you going to be at work tomorrow?" H asks.

"Oh, yeah," I say.

Why wouldn't I? By then, I'll be magically cured of my nausea and fever.

"Okay," H says, "Well, I'll see you then. Try and get better."

-----

The next day, I race into headquarters, nearly colliding with Valera.

"Sorry," I yell, as I barrel toward the locker room. I overslept; consequently, I'm twenty minutes late. If I keep this up, H is going to fire me.

When I finally make it to the lab, H is sorting through stack of papers. He glances up when I burst in.

"Sorry I'm late, H," I say.

"It's okay," he says, gazing at me. "How are you feeling?"

"Better."

"Fever gone?"

"Yeah." I sit down beside him. "So what's going on?"

H cocks his head. "What kind of antibiotics did the doctor put you on?"  
  
Damn.

"Uh, none. I just stayed in bed. It was a bug."

H lets out a breath. "Really? I thought you went to the pharmacy after you went to the ER."

Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn.

"Right," I say, searching my mind for a believable lie, "I bought a few sports drinks. Fluids."

"Oh," he says. "Good thinking. So, you just stayed in bed all day yesterday?" H's tone is conversational, but I've seen him corner a lot of criminals with that tone. I can't shake the feeling that he's trying to trap me.

Licking my lips, I decide to play it safe. "Pretty much," I say, staring at the counter. Trying to sound casual, I add, "I went out once. A friend of mine dragged me back to the pharmacy. Said I needed something to bring the fever down."

"That must've been when I called," H says.

I'm avoiding H's eyes, but I can still feel the intensity of his gaze. It's that look he usually saves for perps who he knows are lying to him.

I shrug, clenching my fist in a hopeless attempt to stop my hand from shaking. "Maybe. I was pretty out of it." As an afterthought, I say, "Get this. While we were there, this dude cut right in front of us in this big, yellow car. It looked like a big banana pulling out in front of us."

Wow. Now I'm even embellishing my lies.

H's expression softens a bit, and I think I hear him release a breath. Smiling, he says, "That kind of thing always seems to happen when you're sick doesn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Actually, I dropped by your apartment yesterday. You must've been out then."

I feel my chest tighten. "Yeah, must have." I take in a breath. "Did you think I was playing hooky?" I ask.

H shrugs, looking a little guilty. "I've just been concerned. It's not like you to call off so much."

"I know," I say, "I haven't been sleeping much. I think I let myself get rundown."

H nods. "It's very easy to do, Speed." Glancing at his watch, he stands up. "I'm going to run to DNA. They're testing a hair Alexx found on the boy's body. Why don't you check out the autopsy report? It's there on the table. I'll fill you in on the case when I get back."

Swallowing, I nod. "All right."

Before he leaves the lab, H turns to me and says, "You need to start taking care of yourself."

"Yeah, I know."

"Well, the last thing you need is to start getting sick."

After H leaves the room, I sit in stunned silence, my cheeks beginning to burn. He fell for it. H thought he'd caught me being dishonest and I not only lied my way out of it, I made him feel guilty. And what's worse, the lies seemed to flow from my mouth like water. I added color and texture to them, not only making them more believable but more appealing, as well. Part of me feels dirty, and part of me feels empowered.

I'm a terrible person.


	5. Evidence

Title: Unknown

Warnings: Domestic abuse, slash.

Chapter 5

-----

Not much happened while I was gone yesterday. DNA ran the blood drops we found, and while they haven't matched it to anybody yet, they did confirm that the blood belonged to a male donor other than Brendan Carver. During the autopsy, Alexx took some scrapings from under Carver's fingernails. As of H's last trip to the DNA lab, those scrapings still hadn't been tested, but we're guessing they'll match our blood sample.

Alexx noticed considerable bruising on the vic's hands, as well as defensive wounds on the inner part of his forearm. This suggests that Carver put up quite a fight.

We also found a trace amount of some sort of grease or oil on Carver's shirt. So that means _I_ finally have something useful to do.

Right now, I'm trying to determine the precise type of oil. So far, I've learned that the sample is standard motor oil, the kind anybody would use in their car. That doesn't tell us much. There's a possibility that the oil came off the killer, but it's also plausible that Carver got it on himself. From what Tripp says, the kid did work on his own car.

As I peer into the microscope at a slide dabbed with oil, Eric bounds into the room. Grinning, he slaps me on the shoulder. "Hey, faker!"

I feel my face begin to flush. Staring intently into my microscope, I say, "You know, Delko, some of us are actually sick when we call off."

I'm such a liar.

"I was just kidding," Delko says, his tone soft. He walks around to my work station and plunks himself down into the chair next to me. "So, what've you got?"

I glance up at him. "Dead teenaged golden boy. Stabbed. You?"

Smirking, Delko says, "Gunshot victim." He pauses. "And get this. The guy was found wearing a huge pickle suit."

"You're joking, right?"

Leaning proudly back in his chair, Delko shakes his head. "Nope."

I stare at him. "Your guy died dressed like a giant pickle?"

"What a way to go, huh?" Massaging his neck, Delko asks, "What's the story with your guy?"

"Killed while his parents were out of town. They walked in and found him the next day."

Delko lets out a breath. "That's hard."

"We'll probably find out the parents are the doers," I say bitterly.

"Says the cynic."

Narrowing my eyes, I stand up and stalk across the room. "I fell for that old man's sob story. Let's just say I won't be surprised if Mom and Dad stabbed their son."

Delko's gaze follows me. "Tell me something, Speedle. Do you actually _like_ being angry all the time?"

I turn to him and glare.

"You know what I think?" Delko says, "I think you do."

"Whatever."

"I think you just wait for something to go wrong on a case so you can say, 'See. I told you life sucks.'"

"That's right, Delko," I say impassively, "It's my mission."

He shrugs. "I'm saying is all."

Just then, Calleigh walks into the room. Beaming, she says, "Hi, Speedle. You feelin' better?

"Yeah, Cal," I say, scowling at Delko, "Thanks for asking."

"Hey, listen," Delko says, suddenly standing up, "I'm going to catch up with autopsy. See what they've found on our vic." Eric gazes at me for a moment, and then he disappears into the hallway.

Calleigh watches as Delko hurries toward the elevator. After a few seconds, she turns to me. "Did Eric tell you about our victim? He really got himself into a pickle this time."

I lick my bottom lip, fighting a smile. "You've been waiting all day to say that haven't you?"

"Yes, I have," she says sweetly.

Finally, I give into the temptation to grin. "Funny, Cal. Funny."

She leans against the counter. "So, what's on your plate today?"

"Well," I say, letting out a breath, "H and I are going to interview our vic's girlfriend. Or try to anyway. She was a mess when H and Tripp talked to her yesterday."

Walking over to a cabinet in the back of the room, I reach up to grab some extra slides. When I can't get to them, I grab a shelf with one hand and reach up with my other arm until my shoulder hurts.

Calleigh walks toward me. "That would be so hard to go through that, wouldn't it, Tim? I wouldn't—Oh my gosh." She hurries over to me and grabs my hand. "What did you do to your wrist?"

Damn. My wrist and the back of my arm are black and blue from where Mark grabbed me and slammed me against the wall. Usually, I wear shirts a little long in the sleeve, so I figured nobody would be able to see my wrist. Calleigh must've noticed the bruise when I stretched my arm.

Unbuttoning my sleeve, Calleigh gingerly presses the bruised area. "This does not look good, Tim," she informs me.

"I fell off my bike," I lie.

"You fell off your bike?"

"Yeah," I say, yanking my hand away, "Must've been the fever. I parked, got dizzy, and tripped. I caught myself, though."

Calleigh narrows her eyes. "Well, that's odd," she says distractedly, "Why isn't the ball of your hand bruised?"

What?

"What?" I say.

Calleigh grabs my hand again. "Well," she says, "If you caught yourself with your hand, the worst of the bruising would be on the ball of your hand."

Inhaling deeply, I shove my free hand into my pocket in an attempt to keep Calleigh from noticing the bandage I have on _that _arm. The last thing I need is to explain multiple injuries.

"Cal," I say, my voice unsteady.

She presses on. "The bulk of the bruising is on the back and side of your wrist, as well as the back of your arm. That indicates—"

"Cal," I say harshly, "I'm not one of your victims."

"I know that," she drawls, "But your story is inconsistent with—"

Scowling, I snap, "I got into a bar fight, all right? This guy and I . . . It was no big thing."

Calleigh caresses my hand. Lifting my hand up to eye-level, she says, "You don't have any bruising on your knuckles. Did you get a punch in?"

I wrench my hand away, but this time, I take a couple of steps away so that I'm out of Calleigh's reach. "It was a shoving match, Calleigh," I shout, my words coming in a flurry, "I went to hit the guy, and he grabbed my arm and pushed me up against the wall. Okay? I wound up at the ER. _That's_ why I missed work. And no. I don't want to talk about it. Okay?"

"You don't have to be so surly," she scolds, "And you don't have to be so secretive."

Yes I do. I just do.

"Look, Calleigh," I snarl, "My personal life is nobody's business. I didn't want to have to call H and tell him I was missing work because I got into a fight." I turn my back to her. "Get off my case."

About that time, I glance up and notice Horatio standing in the doorway. I have no idea how long he's been there, but I think everything I said to Calleigh proves me to be a liar. No matter how long he's been there, I'm screwed.

Shaking, I close my eyes, hoping that when I open them, H and Calleigh will disappear, and everything will be all right.

But when I do open my eyes, Calleigh is still behind me, her eyes boring into my back. And H is still standing in the doorway of the lab, gazing at me with disappointment all over his face.


	6. Complex

Title: Unknown

Chapter 6

Author's Notes: Once again, Speed's logic is **flawed**. He doesn't see Mark for who he is or his situation for what it is.

-----

I can't see any way for this to turn out all right.

Calleigh, H, and I stand in the trace lab as if we're all frozen. I should say something to H. Apologize. Try to explain myself. But what good will it do? He's caught me in an ornate, complex lie. If I'm lucky, I'll get days off for this. At the very least, I'll be written up for an unauthorized absence.

Then again, he could fire me.

After a few moments, Calleigh takes a step forward and puts a hand protectively on my back. "Horatio," she says, "I—"

"The Donahue's are expecting us," H says quietly, "So let's . . . let's go."

"H," I manage to croak out.

He gazes at me. "It's all right."

I can tell by the tone of H's voice that it's not all right. He sounds disappointed, exhausted, and hurt.

Part of me wants to tell H everything, to tell him about Mark and the fights and how depressed I've been lately. I mean, I hate for H to think I'm some slacker that gets into knock-down-drag-outs at a bar and then lies about it. But what would I say? That my boyfriend and I fight a lot? So what? Lots of people fight.

As I move to follow H, Calleigh reaches out and grabs my hand. She squeezes it encouragingly, and then lets it go.

Exhaling, I trudge behind Horatio, my legs like lead.

Glancing at me, he says quietly, "DNA says that the black hair we found on Brendan is female."

"What about the scrapings from Brendan's nails?" I ask, my voice sounding hollow.

"Nothing yet. DNA is swamped."

Horatio strides forward, tugging at his bottom lip.

I hate this. Horatio deserves better than my lies.

As H and I climb into the Hummer, I clear my throat. "H," my voice breaks, "I wasn't truthful with you about why I called off."

"I know," Horatio says evenly.

"I'm sorry, H," I muster.

H lets out a haggard breath. "So am I," he says wearily. As he starts the Hummer, H turns to me. "Look, Speed," he says, "For whatever reason, you felt like you had to lie to me." He fixes his eyes on the road in front of him. "And I think that's a shame."

Ouch.

"Well, the thing is," I say weakly, "I _did_ go to the ER, just not for the reasons I said."

"All right," H says steadily, "I want to make sure I'm up to speed. You called off because you have a bruise on your arm."

I lick my bottom lip. "Well, I was at the ER all night. In the morning, I was dead on my feet."

He nods. "You were in the ER all night for a bruise on your arm."

Swallowing, I say, "Actually, I cut my other arm. I had to get stitches," Unbuttoning my sleeve, I hold my bandaged limb up.

H glances at my arm, and then returns his eyes to the road. "All right. Now we're getting somewhere. This happened during a bar fight?"

"I was in a bar," I lie, my voice trembling, "It was just an argument, really. Things boiled over."

Wow. My life is spiraling out of control. I've gone from one lie to another at break-neck speed. Now, H thinks I'm hitting the bars at night, getting into fistfights. But what can I do? Mark is the best thing that's ever happened to me. I can't risk losing him.

"Speed," H says hesitantly, "Were you picked up?"

"Picked up?"

H bites his bottom lip. "Did a police officer pick you up? Maybe they granted you a professional courtesy, didn't book you? You didn't want me to find out about it?"

"It wasn't like that," I say.

Nodding, H carefully asks, "Have you been drinking?"

"No," I say sharply.

"Look, Speed, I want to help you."

"I haven't been drinking," I reiterate.

We drive in silence for about five minutes. Finally, H takes in a deep breath. "Speed, are you using drugs?"

Suddenly, my chest begins to tighten, and my cheeks begin to burn. What the hell? Why does he assume that _I've_ done something wrong? Clenching my jaw, I snap, "No, H. I'm not on drugs."

"Look, Speed," he says softly, "I can't help you if you don't trust me."

"I don't need your help," I spit venomously, "I was tired, all right? I'm exhausted. I want to go to sleep. Is that so wrong?" I punch the dashboard with my already-black-and-blue arm. "Why can't I sleep?" Blinking hard, I feel a tear escape my eye.

H places a hand on my shoulder. "It's all right," he says, squeezing my shoulder tight, "Listen. We are going to talk about this some more. All right?"

"I don't need your help," I mutter vainly.

-----

Maggie Donahue is a petite blonde. She's pretty in a fragile way.

Right now, she's sitting on the couch beside her mother, her arms crossed tightly. She's wearing a long-sleeved pink silk shirt, and her eyes are puffy from crying.

"I know this is hard," H says softly, "But anything you can tell us would help."

"We were all at my sister's house that night," Maggie's father, who's sitting on the ottoman of a leather easy chair, says dreamily, "What if Maggie had been with him?"

"Well, thank God she wasn't," H says, "Maggie, do you know anyone who would hurt Brendan?"

"No," she sputters. Then she says quietly, "Brendan was so sweet. He had flowers sent to the lunch room. Isn't that nice?"

"Yes, it is," H says, "Has he seemed preoccupied or worried about anything?'

"He was the best thing that ever happened to me," Maggie says distractedly.

Leaning forward, Maggie's mother says, "Brendan was acting like he always did. I don't know," she shrugs.

Maggie's father stands up and crosses his arms just like Maggie. "He wasn't the kind of kid who did drugs or ran with undesirables." He cocks his head. "He drank once in a while, but never too much."

"Did anyone pick on him in school?" H asks.

"Oh, no," Mr. Donahue says, "He wasn't one to shrink away from a fight. If anyone had tried to pick on him, Brendan would have taken care of it."

"How so?" I ask.

Mr. Donahue looks at me strangely, probably because this is the first thing I've said since H and I got here. "Well," he explains, "He was nice guy, but he didn't let anybody push him around."

"So, he smacked people around?" I say cynically.

"I didn't say that," Mr. Donahue says, "He just wasn't a wimp."

I shake my head. "So, if a guy doesn't beat on someone, he's a wimp?"

"I didn't say that either," Mr. Donahue says defensively. He glances at H.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see H giving me a look. I guess I can add this little exchange to the list of things H and I are going to talk about.

"Well," H says, standing up, "Thank you all for your time. You have my card if any of you remember anything."

"Yes," Mr. Donahue says formally, "Of course."

-----

Once outside, H turns to me. "All right, that was uncalled for."

"I was just trying to solve a murder," I say caustically.

H puts his hand on his hips. "Well, attacking a witness isn't the way to do it."

Glowering at H, I half-laugh. "At least I didn't ask him if the kid was on drugs."

I'm digging myself in deeper, but I don't care. I've lied to H a lot lately, and I deserve to be reprimanded for it. I admit that. But it really stung that H thought I was on drugs.

Okay, granted, I _have_ been secretive lately. But my personal life is none of anyone's business. I don't go asking what H and his sister-in-law do behind closed doors. Or why Calleigh puts up with her drunk of a father.

Besides, what if they found how Mark and I fight? Or that I, a man, a trained police officer, can't protect myself?

I couldn't live with the shame.

"Look," H says, leaning against the Hummer, "I'm sorry I accused you. But I've trying to figure out what's going on with you."

"Well," I say casually, "You can relax. I'm good."

"I've been watching you slip away for weeks."

I glare at him. "I'm not your brother, H," I say coldly.

The moment the words leave my mouth, I take a step back. I know H would never hit me, even for saying something so out of line. But still.

Angrily tossing the keys to the Hummer onto the ground, H says, "Speed, I know you're not Raymond. But you are my friend, and I care about you." Pacing, he looks up into the sky. "I should've tried harder to save my brother. But I didn't, and I lost him."

"H, I'm sorry," I say, regret seeping into my chest, "That was out of line. I don't know what's the matter with me."

He waves me off. For a moment, he doesn't say anything, but then he takes a step forward. "I'll promise you this, Speed," he says, "I'll promise you this. I'm not going to let _you _go without a fight."


	7. Mark

Title: Unknown

Warnings: If you're at Chapter 7, you know that this is about domestic abuse, and that Speed is a little confused. You also know that it's slash.

Chapter 7

-----

After the Donahue interview, I figured H would take me back to his office and ream me out. Instead, he decided it was time for lunch. So, he called Eric and Calleigh and asked them to join us at a pizza place close to headquarters.

I think this is all part of some master plan to get me to "open up." I mean, the four of us don't usually take our lunches at the same time. And everyone is being insanely supportive.

I figure Calleigh must've filled Eric in about my "injuries," because Eric immediately sat down next me and started examining my arms. He joked that I should've called him if I wanted to hit a bar last night. He said he would've "had my back." I don't doubt it.

Right now, Eric's cradling my bruised arm, pressing on it with his fingers. I can't shake the warm feeling I get from the contact. It's like Eric is holding my hand, and I get a tingling sensation that courses all over my body.

I must sleep-deprived.

"Ow!" I yank my hand away when Eric hits a sore spot.

Eric frowns. "Are you sure it's not broken?"  
  
"I told you," I say, "I went to the ER."

Eric narrows his eyes. "You told me lots of things." As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Eric glances guiltily at H.

I glance at H, too. He hasn't said a lot since we got here. Instead, he's just eating and watching the three of us. Suddenly, I understand what it must feel like to be a suspect in an interview room with one cop grilling you and another watching you from behind the mirror.

Rolling up my sleeve, I say to Eric, "You want proof? I still have glue on my arm from the tape they put on me after they drew blood."

"We believe you," Calleigh drawls sympathetically, "It's just that lately you've been less than forthcoming about things."

I like how Calleigh can defend me and scold me at the same time. She'll make a great mother.

"I know that," I say. Exhaling, I lean forward. "I'm having some personal problems right now, and I let it affect my professional life. I'm sorry."

"Well, do you want to talk about it?" Eric asks.

"No. Not really."

"We're you're friends, Eric prods.

"I know that, and I appreciate that." I stick my finger into my glass of ice water and absentmindedly stir the ice. "I just don't want to talk about it." I turn to H. "Horatio, I'm sorry I lied to you. It won't happen again."

I hope.

Horatio nods, but doesn't say anything. Finally, he takes a sip of diet cola and says, "Eat guys. Miami needs well-fed CSIs."

-----

Eventually, the lunchtime conversation veered away from me and centered on new equipment in the field, a pretty nighttime technician Eric has the hots for, and the car Hagen's been bragging about buying. It was nice to sit and talk to everyone without feeling pressured or nervous.

I'm still not sure if I'm going to have office time with H tonight or not. He hasn't said anything. On the up side, I think I may have escaped suspension. But a good reaming out or a written reprimand are still looming in the background.

If I'm being honest with myself, I deserve to be busted for my recent behavior. I really do. In the past few weeks, I've become something I don't like—a liar. I know that I have to protect Mark and our relationship, but lying to my friends gives me a pain in the center of my stomach.

I really believe things will calm down at home, though. Mark's a good man, and if he says something like last night will never happen again, it won't.

Now, our lunches eaten, Calleigh, Eric, H, and I are trudging into headquarters.

As we pass through the doorway, Valera collides with me. Placing her hands on my shoulders to steady herself, she says, "Apparently neither of us can walk!"

"Apparently not," I quip.

"Well," she smiles, "I'm weak from hunger. On my way to lunch."

"You're just going now?" H asks with concern.

"Carrie and I were trying to catch DNA up, Lieutenant. We're seriously swamped."

H nods. "Did you finish the scrapings from the Carver case?"

"Yes, sir. Carrie has the results." Valera waves and starts to take off. Then she turns back to me and says, "Oh, Speed. Your boyfriend's at the reception desk." She smiles approvingly. "He's hot."

All at once, the pain in my stomach starts pounding with new, bloodthirsty vengeance. Swallowing, I can feel three pairs of eyes on me as I round the corner toward the front desk.

Sure enough, Mark is standing there waiting for me. When he sees me, he smiles guiltily. "Hey, Timmy."

"Hey," I say, trying to sound casual.

Mark glances around me at H, Calleigh, and Eric. "You have an entourage?"

"We just got back from lunch," I say. Letting out a labored breath, I turn to my companions. I'd better get this over with. "Everybody, this is my friend, Mark. Mark, this is my boss, Horatio Caine and my friends, Eric Delko and Calleigh Duquesne."

Mark flashes a broad smile. "I've heard a lot about all of you," he says. I notice that his eyes rest on Eric for a few seconds.

Eric mutters a "hey," and then shuffles his feet awkwardly

Calleigh thrusts out her hand. "I'm so glad to meet you," she says cheerfully, "We knew there was someone in Tim's life, but he wasn't giving details. Mark, was it?"

"Yeah," he grins. "Okay, you're the one who likes guns."

She beams, "That's right!"

"Pleased to meet you," H says.

Mark smiles. "Lieutenant Caine," he says, "I'm sorry Tim was late this morning. It was my fault."

"Your fault?" H raises his eyebrows.

"Yeah," Mark nods, "I turned the alarm clock off when I got up. Forgot to wake him."

Well, any hope of passing Mark off as "just a friend" is out the window.

Mark turns to me. "I'm really sorry."

"Well, it happens," H says evenly, "I figured he was probably still run down from his trip to the ER the other night."

H is checking my story. Damn.

When I see panic ghost over Mark's face, I say, "I told them about the idiot in the bar." I can feel my legs shaking almost uncontrollably.

Licking his lips, Mark nods, "Okay. Good." He gently squeezes my shoulder, and then faces H. "Is he in trouble?"

H's lips form a thin, but pleasant smile. "No, he's getting amnesty this time."

This time.

H gestures to Calleigh and Eric. "C'mon, guys. Let's give them a minute." Patting me on the shoulder, H says, "See you in a few minutes, Speed."

"Okay, H," I say.

Mark takes his thumb and runs it along my bottom lip. "I'm sorry to just show up like this, but I was worried about you being late." He grins. "And I got sick of asking to meet these people."

I half-smile. "So you figured you'd take matters into your own hands?"

"Yeah," he says, "Desperate times and everything."

Part of me is glad Eric, Calleigh, and H have finally met Mark. That's one less secret I have to keep. But the other part of me . . . Well, I love Mark, and I want to share my life with him. But I sort of liked that my work and my friends from work were mine and only mine. I guess I liked having a small section of the world that Mark couldn't touch.

Now that's done.

"So," Mark says, "Now that we've all met, maybe we can have them over?"

I shift uncomfortably. "To my apartment? I've never had any of them over before."

That's true, and this is the first time it's occurred to me. In all these years, I've never had any of them over. I mean, Megan used to come over all the time. And Tyler came over to do some stuff to my computer. But I've never had H, Eric, or Calleigh over to my apartment.

Weird.

"They're your friends," Mark says.

I shrug. "I could ask them. I don't know."

"Ask them," he urges gently, "I want them to be _our_ friends. Not your friends."

I gaze quietly at Mark for a while. This could be a good thing. I mean, I've felt really isolated from everybody lately. This way, I could spend time with my friends without ignoring Mark.

"I'll ask them," I say.

Mark grins. "Great. How about tomorrow night? I'll cook."

Smiling, I say, "I'll let you know tonight."

He cuffs me on the jaw. "Don't worry. They'll love me, Timmy."


	8. Reactions

Title: Unknown

Chapter 8

Author's Notes: I am so dreading the season opener.

-----

As I round the corner into the break room, Calleigh and Alexx are standing face to face, deep in conversation.

"Well," Calleigh says seriously, her arms folded tightly across her chest, "This certainly explains his secretiveness."

I lean casually against the door frame, but I don't say anything.

"I'd say it does," Alexx says, "The poor thing."

Calleigh nods. "At least know we know what's going—"

Fighting a grin, I clear my throat.

Startled, Calleigh looks up. "Oh, hi, Tim," she says a little too brightly, "How long have you been standing there?"

"Hi, baby," Alexx says quickly. She walks over and puts a hand on my upper arm. "So when do I meet this Mark character?"

"Wow," I say, scowling at Calleigh, "News travel fast."

"Well," Calleigh says defensively, "I'm prone to gossip. You know that."

Alexx reaches up and straightens my collar. "Timmy, what kind of man is Mark?"

About that time, Tyler walks in holding a bottle of lemonade. "Who's Mark?"

I raise my eyebrows at Calleigh. "You mean you didn't have time to get the news to the AV lab? Maybe you should've tried a memo."

"Are you really mad?" Calleigh asks sheepishly.

I shake my head. "No, I'm not mad." Turning to Tyler, I say, "Mark is my significant other."  
  
Tyler takes a sip of lemonade. "Cool," he says, "So, am I the last to know?"

"No," Calleigh says, twirling her hair innocently around her fingers, "I didn't get a chance to tell Carrie yet."  
  
Tyler grins at me, "Can I tell her?"

Shaking my head, I smile, "Knock yourself out."

"Cool," he says happily. As he starts for the door, he turns to me and points. "Oh, I forgot. H wants to see you in his office."

I feel my stomach start to churn. Damn. I thought I was off the hook.

"Did he seem mad?" I ask, trying to hide the anxiety in my voice.

Tyler pauses to consider. Finally, he answers, "He seemed pensive."

H seems pensive a lot, so that could be bad or good. Sighing, I turn to Alexx and Calleigh. "Well, it looks like I've been called to the principal's office."

Steeling myself for the inevitable dressing down, I dutifully trudge into the hall.

"Hey," Calleigh says, hurrying to catch up to me, "I'll walk with you."

As we plod toward H's office, I turn to Calleigh. "So, you're all right with this?"

She frowns. "Why wouldn't I be?"

I shrug. "I didn't know what to expect." Letting out a breath, I add, "Listen, Mark wants to have you, Eric, and H over tomorrow night. At my place."

"Your place," Calleigh gasps for effect, "That would be a first."

I roll my eyes. "It's not that impressive, Cal. It's mostly wall to wall books."

"That would impress a girl like me," she says sweetly.

-----

I swallow fiercely when we finally reach H's office. "Well," I say, "This is where I get off."

Calleigh squeezes my arm for support. "Well, call me," she says. "Let me know what time."

I nod, and then poke my head hesitantly into Horatio's inner sanctum. "Hey H," I say, "You wanted to see me?"

H looks up. "Yeah, Speed," he says amiably, "Come in."

I inch my way into the office. The last time I was here, I was getting yelled at for my . . . attitude toward a suspect's son. It was the first time I'd ever been bawled out by H. Or any boss. Megan used to lecture me, but she never really yelled.

"Sit down," H says, leaning nonchalantly against his desk. He tugs at his bottom lip, gazing at me for a moment while I lower myself into a chair. Finally, he says, "So, how long have you been seeing Mark?"

I lean back uncomfortably. "A few months."  
  
He nods. "Okay. How are things going?"

"Good," I say.

H regards me for a few seconds. "So, the fight in the bar," he says conversationally.

"Yeah?"

"Did that have anything to do with you and Mark being together?"

It takes me a minute to process what H is asking. "No," I say, a little stunned, "No. We usually don't get hassled. I mean, once in a while, some idiot will mouth off. But Mark's a big guy, y'know?"

"Okay," H nods, "Okay. Listen, Speed. If you are hassled at all, verbally or physically, I want to know about it at once. All right?"

"Yeah," I say, straightening my body, "Everybody's been pretty cool so far."

"Okay." H stands up and walks around his desk, snatching up a manila file. "I checked with DNA. It turns out that the scrapings under Brendan's nails are female, but not a match to our black hair." He puts his hands on his hips. "What does that tell us?"

I lean forward, the tension in my shoulders finally beginning to fade. "It tells us that three people were in contact with our vic. One male. Two females."  
  
"That's right," H says, "Three possible suspects."

I nod, licking my bottom lip. "Three possible witnesses."

-----

In the quiet of the locker room, I lean my body against cold metal. Slowly, my breathing starts to return to normal.

I'm not suspended. I haven't been written up or yelled at. H and Calleigh are coming over for dinner. Mark and I are getting along. Finally, finally, life is okay again.

I'm so lost in thought that I don't hear Eric walk up. "Hey," he mumbles.

I jump, startled. "Hey."

He points. "You're leaning on my locker."  
  
"Sorry," I say, moving quickly to one side. "So, Delko," I say, "Are you okay with this?"

"Okay with what?"

I frown. I hate it when Eric plays dumb. He's too smart for that.

"Are you okay with me dating a man?" I ask.

Eric shrugs. "I'm cool."

"No," I say, "You're freaking."

"I am not," he says, slamming his locker a little too loudly.

"You're freaking," I repeat.

Glaring, Eric starts to pace. "Maybe a little," he says after several seconds, "Give me a break."

"I'm the same guy, Eric," I say.

Eric shakes his head. "No, man. No you're not. This morning, you were my straight, single friend. My wingman. Now you're . . . what? Are you gay?"  
  
"Yeah," I say.

"Okay, so you're gay. And you're in a relationship." Eric spits the last part out with a fair dose of venom.

"I can still be your wingman."

"Can you?" Eric says emphatically, moving close enough that he's nearly in my face. "I had to prod you to get you to go out to dinner. And you had to run home in the middle of _that_." He throws his hands up. "Everything's changed, Speed."

"No it hasn't," I say ardently, "Things will be better now. You'll see. Mark wants to spend time with you. He wants you to come over for dinner tomorrow. H and Calleigh are coming."

Eric narrows his eyes. "This guy living with you?"

I let out a breath. "He has his own place. But yeah, he usually stays over."

"So this is serious?"

"Yeah, Eric. It's serious." We stare at each other for a minute. I knew there was a chance someone would act this way. I just hoped it wouldn't be Eric. Finally, I ask, "Delko, you gonna be okay with this?"

Eric rocks back on his heels. "You gotta give me time to process this, man. I mean, we're okay. I just need to get used to all this."

"Okay, fair enough. I can live with that." Leaning one shoulder against my locker, I ask, "So, will you come to dinner tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he says without hesitation, "I'll be there."


	9. Charisma

Title Unknown

Warnings: Angst-a-plenty. No fluffy bunnies here. Also, this is slash and is about domestic abuse.

Author's Notes: In my universe, he's still alive. Period.

Chapter 9

-----

When I arrive home tonight, Mark corners me in the kitchen and wraps his arms around my waist. "Long day?"

"Yeah," I say with a sigh.

We're still at a dead end with the Carver case. We've been unable to match any of the DNA samples we found to a real, live person. To complicate matters, H and I were supposed to go to the school today to speak to Brendan's teachers and fellow students. But the principal called and said they were having an assembly to deal with Brendan's death, and having cops show up would only exacerbate the situation. H told him in no uncertain terms that we would be at the school tomorrow, as soon as the bell rings.

I did get a partial print off the broken bottle I found, but to my surprise, the print belonged to the vic. It's possible that he threw the bottle at his killer, but missed the target. That's unlikely, since I found it in the trash. It's also possible that he just dropped the bottle because he was clumsy or something. In any case, it's a dead end.

Glancing around the kitchen, I can see that Mark has been pretty busy. There are pots and pans on the stove; a casserole dish filled with something that smells really good is sitting on the counter; and there is a cake on the table. Since I'm pretty sure I don't own this many kitchen items, I'm guessing Mark either went shopping or brought them from his place.

"Looks good," I say, "Everyone should be here soon. Is there anything I can do?"

Mark shakes his head. "I don't want you to tear your stitches. Besides," he says, "I dragged you in here to give you something."

I frown. "What?"

Opening a drawer, Mark pulls out a small box. "Open it," he says.

"Okay," I say warily, "What've we got?" I pull the lid off the box and peer inside. To my surprise, I discover a gold watch studded with what looks like diamonds. "Wow," I say, "This is _really _nice."

Mark snatches the box from me, removes the watch, and takes my hand. "Let me put it on," he says. Kissing my knuckles after he slides the watch onto my wrist, Mark says, "I wanted to get you something to make up for what a prick I've been."

"It's really not necessary," I say.

"No," Mark whispers, "I'm sorry for what happened."

Then don't do it again.

"It's okay, Mark. You said it won't happen again."

Mark pulls me close and kisses me on the cheek. "Tim, I just know where my temper comes from."

I squeeze Mark tightly, and kiss him on the neck. I hate to see him hurting this way.

"You know," I say, taking a step backward, "This watch is way too nice to wear to work."

He grins. "Then save it for special occasions. Like tonight."

-----

After H, Eric, and Calleigh arrived, Mark ushered everyone to the table and bolted into the kitchen to take care of the food. He refused to let me help, instead telling me to "be a good host, entertain." Mark should know by now that social functions aren't my strong suit.

Still, I muddled through, letting everyone else do most of the talking. They browsed through my book collection, admired my new watch, and asked why they'd never been here before. I communicated through shrugs, monosyllables, and the occasional laugh. I don't know why I'm so uncomfortable tonight. They're my friends.

During the course of the evening Calleigh must've told me five times how much she loves Mark. Of course, Mark did a little homework before Calleigh got here, so he was able to make small talk with her about guns and ammunition. H seems impressed with him, too. He did ask Mark some probing questions initially, but that's H. He's a criminalist whether he's on duty or off. Even Eric has behaved himself so far. I mean, he's not going out of his way to converse with Mark, but he's not being rude, either.

Right now, Mark is bringing in our dessert. Almost as soon as he sits down, he says, "Oh, I forgot the ice cream. My bad."

I stand up. "I'll get it," I say, "You've done enough."

"Tim . . ."

"Mark, I'm not an invalid. I won't tear my stitches carrying ice cream."

Calleigh places a hand on his arm. "Besides, we want you to ourselves for a little bit. Right, Horatio?"

H grins. "That's right. We want to interrogate you."

Mark smiles self-consciously. "I just had to fall for a cop," he says.

As I head toward the kitchen, I notice Eric jump out of his seat to follow me.

"Hey," he says as we reach the kitchen.

"Hey," I say.

Leaning against the counter, he takes a breath and releases it. "I want to you to know that I don't mind Mark. I mean, he seems all right."

I nod. "Good. Because he's part of my life now."

"I know," he says, "I'm still weirded out by this, Speed. I can't lie to you."

"Eric, that's cool. You're trying." I open a drawer and pull out an ice cream scoop. "I just don't see why it's an issue. I mean, if you found out Calleigh and Valera were doing it, you'd be turned on."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I turn to face him, ice cream scoop in hand. "It means that it's not the whole gay thing itself. You're weirded out because Mark and I are gay _men_. We're threatening."

"Threatening?" Eric laughs. "How are you threatening?"

"I don't know. We're a threat to your masculinity?"

Eric scowls. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"My masculinity's just fine," Eric says.

"Then Mark and I shouldn't be a problem," I say.

"You're not."

"Then we're good."

Eric and I gaze at each other for a long moment.

If I'm being honest, Eric is trying. At least he's not being passive-aggressive about it. He's telling him how he feels, and he's going out of his way to spend time with me, even though it makes him uncomfortable. Finally, I scoop up the carton of ice cream. Patting him on the shoulder, I say, "Come on."

-----

As Eric and I reach the living room, I can hear H, Mark, and Calleigh talking in hushed tones.

"—been worried about him, too, Lieutenant," Mark is saying, "I just think it's been the stress of our relationship."

I frown. So I guess they really _did _want to interrogate him. Great.

"Well," H says, "Now that it's out in the open, I hope we can—"

"Hi, guys," I say, ending the clandestine conversation.

Calleigh looks innocently up at me. "Well, hi, there, Speedle."

Mark stands up and takes the ice cream from my arms. "Thanks, hon," he says quickly.

I glance between Mark and Calleigh, and then I let my gaze fall hard on H. From Calleigh, this kind of thing doesn't surprise me. But I never expected H to go behind my back and question my boyfriend about my behavior. Granted, I've lied to him a lot lately, but still.

I stand there for a few seconds, unmoving, and then finally take my seat. After I sit down, Mark reaches over and encouragingly squeezes my shoulder.

As we all watch Mark work on the ice cream and cake, Calleigh grabs my hand under the table and leans close to me. "We love him, Tim," she whispers.


	10. Signals

Title: Unknown

Chapter 10

Author's Notes: In my universe, he's alive. Moreover, please be aware that Speed's logic is **flawed**. (Everyone is going to be seriously frustrated with him by the end of this chapter.)

Warnings: Slash and domestic abuse.

-----

After everyone left for the evening, Mark and I curled up on the couch to talk. We didn't really talk about anything important. We just talked.

And it was nice.

Initially, I was leery about having everyone over, but now that the evening is done, life is starting to look a lot better. I mean, Mark and I have finally made it through whatever rocky patch we were stuck in, and I think things are going to be okay now.

I have to admit, though. I'm still pretty ticked about the huddle I found H, Calleigh, and Mark in. Mark said H and Calleigh were just worried, and that they wondered if Mark had noticed anything. I'm glad they care about me. But still, it sort of creeps me out that my friends would pump my boyfriend for information.

Right now, H and I are at Brendan Carver's high school, pumping Brendan's Spanish teacher for information.

"Now, Mr. Clarke," H says evenly, "What kind of student was Brendan?"

Patrick Clarke shrugs. "As a student, not bad. He was bright, engaged. But he was one of those kids who always had to be right. You know what I mean?"

H nods.

Mr. Clarke rubs some lint off the leg of his pants. "And he got overly frustrated when someone disagreed with him."

Leaning forward slightly, H asks, "All right. How did that translate into his social interactions with other students?"

"Oh, he was popular," Mr. Clarke says, cocking his head, "But he could be aggressive."

"What are you saying?" I ask, "He picked fights?"

Mr. Clarke smiles patronizingly. "Brendan was a bully, Detective. He didn't pick fights. He picked targets."

I frown. "Anyone in particular have a bullseye on their back?"

Licking his lips, Mr. Clarke says, "His girlfriend, for one."

H crosses his arms. "Are you saying that Brendan abused his girlfriend?"

"Oh, yeah," Mr. Clarke says, nodding.

Taking a step backward, I lean against the blackboard. It figures. I feel sorry for the kid, and it turns out he's a batterer.

"Who knew about this?" H asks.

"Well," Mr. Clarke says, "I picked up on it. So did the school nurse."

Kneading the muscles in my neck, I ask, "Did Maggie's parents know about it?"

Mr. Clarke stares impassively into my eyes. "Not until very recently. I don't want to say they were naïve. But they did miss some pretty obvious signals."

"What kind of signals did they miss?" H asks.

Standing up, Mr. Clarke walks across the classroom and picks up a stray pencil. Placing it gingerly on his desk, he says, "She stopped hanging out with her friends. She wasn't as perky as she usually was. Her grades started to tank—she'd always gotten at least Bs before. And then I noticed some bruises."  
  
"What action did you take when you noticed the bruises?"

Mr. Clarke lets out a breath. "I asked her if everything was all right. Of course, she said it was." He shrugs. "I couldn't do much else, so I sent her to the school nurse."

"You just let it go?" I say, a little more harshly than I intend.

It kills me. A kid like Brendan beats up on his girlfriend and no one does a thing.

Mr. Clarke stares quizzically at me. "It wasn't quite like that, Detective. The girl was embarrassed, you know? Maggie's always been pretty popular, but she's introverted. She just didn't want her personal life open to the public."

"When did her parents find out what was going on?" H asks.

Rolling up his sleeves, Mr. Clarke says, "From what I understand, the principal called them a couple weeks ago."

I glance at H. If Maggie's family knew about the abuse two weeks ago, why was Mr. Donahue defending Brendan during our earlier interview? It could be that he hasn't been able to acknowledge the truth about Brendan. Or maybe he's concerned that the truth would implicate his family in Brendan's death.

Then again, it pretty much does, doesn't it?

H and I thank Mr. Clarke for his cooperation, and then turn to leave. But just as we're about to exit the room, I stop short.

"By the way," I say, "Maggie has a brother, right?"

"Yeah," Mr. Clarke says, "Collin."

"Is he an athlete?"

Narrowing his eyes, Mr. Clarke nods. "Basketball."

-----

Once in the hall, H turns to me. "You're thinking about that footprint you found," he says knowingly.

"It might figure." I say, pressing a hand against my stomach. Damn. I'm seriously starting to think I've got an ulcer. "Brendan was beating up on his sister. Maybe Collin did something about it."

"All right," H says, nodding, "But let's not jump to conclusions. What we need to do first is confirm what Mr. Clarke told us."

Slumping against a locker, I ask, "You want I should call the Donahues?"

Tugging at his bottom lip, H says, "I'll handle that. Hey, you all right?"

"What?"

H cocks his head. "Your stomach bothering you?"

Letting out a breath, I admit, "Yeah. A little."

"You need something to eat?"

"No, I'm good."

I straighten my body, trying to shake off the gnawing pain in my stomach.

H gazes at me, as if he's trying to decide whether I'm really "good" or not. Finally, he nods toward the door. "Let's swing by the principal's office. Then we'll grab a bite."

-----

The principal, Mr. Haverson, confirmed Mr. Clarke's story. Brendan definitely abused Maggie. In fact, the kid copped to it when Haverson and the school shrink confronted him. According to Mr. Haverson, Brendan "showed real regret for his actions," but the school, "informed the parents of both Brendan and Maggie in order to prevent further incidents."

Whatever.

I'm not surprised that Brendan's parents kept that little nugget a secret.

True to his word, H dragged me to the nearest deli for lunch as soon as we finished with Mr. Haverson. We ordered some sandwiches and took them to a table outside. We picked a busy time of day to come, though. Hordes of people keep spilling past us, making it difficult to have a conversation.

"Feeling better?" H asks, leaning forward to so I can hear him above the clamor.

Pulling a shred of turkey out of my sandwich, I say, "Yeah. A little." The ache is my stomach is still there, but it's less profound. "I guess I did need to eat."

"Good," H says. He takes a sip of lemonade, and then says, "So, I'm going to have Frank meet me at the Donahues."

I bite my lip so I don't smirk. "So, what? I'm barred from interviewing the Donahues?"

"I don't want them to shut down, Speed."

"Fair enough."

Taking a bite of my sandwich, I gaze down at my bandaged wrist. It's gone from throbbing pain to infuriating itch. I can barely fight the urge to rip off my bandages and scratch my wound.

Exhaling, I slump down in my chair. It's a shame Maggie had to be confronted before she got help. She had to see what he was doing to her.

"Speed."

I glance up. "Sorry, H. You say something?"

"Yeah," H frowns, "I'm going to head over to the Donahues now. Why don't go back to the lab and start going over our interviews."

"Okay," I say, "I'll catch a bus." Popping the last of the sandwich into my mouth, I stand up. "See back at headquarters, H," I say.

H pats me on the shoulder. "See you there."

I guess I can understand where she's coming from, though. I mean, my situation with Mark is totally different, but I can relate to Maggie wanting to keep her personal problems a secret. She was probably afraid everyone would pity her, or blame her for Brendan's actions.

Tugging at the bandange on my wrist, I start down the street toward the bus stop.

But still, she's lucky things didn't escalate too far before Brendan died. If things had gone differently, we might be investigating her murder instead of his.


	11. Chat

Title: Unknown

Chapter 11

Author's Notes: It's kind of sad they never used Speed's biographical information on the show. It's so angsty. Since no name was ever given for Speed's best friend, I've just arbitrarily settled on a name.

Warnings: Slash, domestic abuse.

-----

During the last two days, H and I managed to confirm three things. First, Maggie Donahue _was_ definitely a victim of her abusive boyfriend. Second, her family—including her older brother—knew about that. Third, the scrapings we found under Brendan's fingernails are a match to Maggie. H didn't go into details, but apparently, the long-sleeved shirt I saw Maggie wearing the day we first interviewed her was hiding a pretty nasty laceration.

We compared Maggie's DNA to the blood and the hair we found. I was expecting to match the blood to Maggie's brother, Collin. To my surprise, neither sample came from a blood relative. Additionally, Collin Donahue has a solid alibi. Apparently, he went to the Keys with his girlfriend and two others. Given the tracks we found, the fact Collin is a basketball player, and the fact that our db was beating his sister, I was pretty sure he was the doer. But I guess I was wrong.

On the home front, things with Mark have been pretty calm. I feel more relaxed than I have in a while. Mark and I are communicating better, and he's putting forth a real effort to get to know my friends. He's kind of bothered right now because of his job, though. Mark's an environmentalist, and he's running into a lot of crap from political types. He comes home stressed out almost every night.

Right now, I'm feeling stressed myself. I'm trying catch up on a mountain of trace evidence. There's been a major influx into our lab all day, and at the moment, Sam's taking his lunch. Now I understand how DNA felt the other day.

I'm just about to take a breather when Eric walks in, places both hands on the counter, and says, "So?"

"So what?" I ask.

"So," Eric says, "What was under my French fry's fingernails?"

I bite my lip hard to keep from laughing. Eric's vic in the pickle suit has been joined by a vic dressed like a giant French fry. Turns out both vics worked for a burger place by the beach. Walking advertisements or something. In any case, no one in the department is going to let Eric and Calleigh live this one down for a while. No one including me.

"Eric I'm swamped," I say, pointing my index finger at his chest, "You know, that's the problem with you."

"What's that?" Eric asks, crossing his arms.

I cock my head at him. "You live in a fast food world."

Shaking his head, Eric says, "Ha. Ha. Timmy Speedle finally develops a sense of humor."

I shrug. "Had to happen sooner or later."

"All right, Funny Guy," Eric says, "What was under my French fry's fingernails?" As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Eric dissolves into laughter. "Those are words I never thought I'd say."

Grinning, I snatch the results of the test off my table. "Ready for this?" I gaze soberly at him. "You ready?"

Eric nods emphatically. "I'm ready. Lay it on me."

"Your French fry had ketchup under his fingernails."

Eric grabs the results out of my hand. "Ketchup? Are you messing with me?" He gazes at the page, and then glances resignedly up at the ceiling. "I'm glad we pulled Yelina. Can you imagine working this with John Hagen?"

Shrugging, I say, "Yeah? I'll trade with you. I get the 'honor' of solving an the murder of an abusive boyfriend."

"Yeah, that's rough," Eric says.

About that time, Sam waltzes in. As he pulls on his lab coat, he smiles at Eric. "I thought of you while I ate my French fries, Eric."

"Two funny trace experts," Eric says, "How'd I get so lucky?"

Grinning at Eric, Sam pats me on the shoulder. "Go get some lunch, Speedle. I can mind the store."

I consider arguing, but Eric and Sam will win in the end anyway. So, letting out a breath, I tug my off my lab coat and rattle off a list of what has and hasn't been done. Then I follow Eric out the door.

-----

Eric and I wind up in the break room with some sandwiches we got down the street. Not exactly culinary masterpieces, but not so bad.

Leaning forward, Eric says, "So, how's Mr. Wonderful?"

"Mark's fine," I say, "He and Calleigh are out having lunch right now. She said she wants to 'make an effort to get to know Mark.'"

Eric knocks on the table with his knuckles. "Listen," he says, "You've . . . really looked happy the past couple of days. Looks good on you."

Glancing down at the floor, I try to fight the burn that's creeping into my cheeks. Why on Earth does Eric affect me this way?

Licking my lips, I say, "I kind of like being happy. It's a new concept, but it's growing on me."

"Good," Eric says, grinning. He gazes into his iced tea, as if he's looking for something. Finally, he turns his gaze to me and asks, "When did you know? You know . . . the gay thing?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Gay thing? You mean when did I figure out I was gay?"

Eric averts his eyes. "Yeah. I mean, that's a personal question, but, you know. You don't have to answer."

I lean back in my chair. "No," I say, "I'd rather you ask. I've known since I was in high school."

Shoveling some coleslaw into his mouth, he asks, "Was there someone special?"

Slouching forward, I take a long sip of lemonade. Then I dip my fork into my potato salad and gingerly pick at the mixture. "Yeah," I finally say, "There was a guy. His name was Brett, and we were best friends. Eventually, we became more."

Eric gazes at me, his expression unreadable "So what happened to Brett?"

I pick up my napkin and start tearing it into long, thin strips. I've never discussed Brett with anyone but Megan, and she only got the cursory overview. Lately, I've been toying with telling Mark about him. Mark asks me about my past on a daily basis. But I still have a hard time processing all of it. It's so surreal.

Letting out a breath, I say, "Brett passed away. There was an accident, and he lived for a while, but he died when I was in college."

Eric leans forward. "I'm sorry."

"We had a lot of plans," I say, "But they just . . . things just don't work out."

"Sometimes they do," Eric says.

"Yeah?" I say, tossing my fork onto the table, "I haven't seen it yet."

Picking up my fork, Eric turns it around in his fingers, his eyes glazing over the hard, white plastic. Exhaling, Eric hands the utensil back to me. "So," he says, "Is that where your cynicism started, or was it already there?"

Cocking my head, I say, "I don't know."

Eric and I eat in silence for a while, which is fine with me. Every now and then, I see Eric trying to sneak glances at me. Once, he reaches over and steals a potato chip, smirking as he pops it in his mouth.

Finally, I let out a breath. "I didn't mean to get heavy on you."

Reaching over, Eric places a hand on my forearm. His touch sends a shot of warmth all over my body. It's weird. Eric's never been that touchy-feely with me, but lately, he's been pretty demonstrative.

"Look, Speed," he says, "I'm the one who brought it up. I took you somewhere you didn't want to go."

"No," I say, "I think needed to go there. I've never really talked much about Brett."

Eric squeezes my arm. "Well, if you ever want to . . ."

Maybe I _should_ talk more about Brett, about the past I ran all the way to Miami to escape. I mean, Eric's easy to talk to. And he seems genuinely interested in my life.

"Knock, knock," Calleigh says, making both Eric and me jump.

I glance up to see Calleigh standing in the doorway with Mark. Mark's leaning against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets, gazing between Eric and me. I can't read Mark's face, which usually isn't a good thing.

"Hey, Mark," I say, pulling my arm away from Eric.

Mark waves stiffly.

"Hey, Cal," Eric says, "How was lunch? Have you two bonded yet?"

"It was great," Calleigh says, taking Mark by the arm and leading him into the break room, "We went to a very nice BBQ place."

Eric gestures at his food. "While we're stuck eating this stuff."

"The _injustice_," Calleigh says.

I stare at Mark. He hasn't said a word to me since he and Calleigh arrived. From the get-go, Mark's been a little frosty toward Eric. Which is ridiculous. I mean, what? Is he jealous? Mark doesn't have anything to be jealous about. He must realize that.

Licking my lips, I stand up. "Mark," I say, "I was just finishing up my lunch. You want to go somewhere and talk?"

Mark shakes his head. Leaning over, he kisses me on the cheek. "We'll talk when you get home."


	12. Trouble

Title: Unknown

Chapter 12

Warnings: Slash. Also, domestic abuse. It's not overly graphic, but Mark does get physical this chapter. The jerk. : (

Author's Notes: Those of you who know me know that I write long stories. I like to take the time to build the plot and play with the characters. Sooooooo, don't expect there to be a quick resolution to Speed's predicament. In my experience, these things take a while to work themselves out. Our Speed is going to go through a lot before he gets a happy ending.

-----

True to his word, Mark was waiting up for me when I got home this evening. He wanted to "talk" about the fact that Eric had his hand on my arm when Mark and Calleigh walked in to the break room.

So, we're talking.

Squeezing his fingers tightly around my bandaged wrist, Mark grabs me by the collar. "Why do you make me do this?"

Swallowing, I choke, "I was just talking to him. I swear."

"Well, you looked pretty cozy," Mark says, his face about an inch from mine.

"He's a co-worker," I say, "We were in the break room. What was going to happen?"

Digging his fingers into my wrist, Mark shouts, "Why do you talk to me like this? You realize a lot of people wouldn't put up with you? You know what? You're lucky I'm still here."

Biting my lip in an attempt to stave off the pain, I try to yank my arm away. Mark responds by twisting my wrist and jerking me forward.

"I'm trying to talk to you," Mark says, shaking me.

I feel like my knees are about to give out. If it weren't for the fact that Mark is hanging onto me by the wrist, I'd probably collapse into a heap on the floor. Mark's literally keeping me in a standing position by the sheer force of his rage.

"Well, let's sit down and talk," I say, my voice trembling, "Let's sit on the couch."

"Listen to me," Mark says, holding one finger up, "I think I deserve your respect. Don't you?"

"Yeah," I say, nodding, "I respect you."

Wrenching my arm with one hand, Mark grabs a handful of my hair with the other. "You don't know what the word respect means," he snarls.

My voice quaking, I choke, "Mark, you said you wouldn't do this again."

Taking a step back, Mark releases his hold on me and threads the fingers of both hands through his hair. "Timmy, you know I don't like to do this to you." He starts to pace. "But I feel like I'm losing you. I've got a lot of crap going on at work. You're my sanity."

"Mark, I'm here for you," I say, grabbing onto the counter that separates my kitchen from the rest of my house.

"You're going to leave me," Mark says.

"No," I say, "I love you. I'm not going anywhere."

Mark takes a step forward, and instinctively, I move back, still clinging onto the counter to steady myself. Feeling sick to my stomach, I lean against the wall, trying hard not to hyperventilate.

Mark stops short and just stares into my eyes. After a few moments, he says, "You're afraid of me."

Perceptive guy.

Shaking my head, I say, "What do you expect?"

Mark gazes at me, his face devoid of color. "I've got to go," he mumbles, turning toward the door. As he steps outside, Mark turns back to me. "I'm sorry, Tim," he says. Then he shuts the door, leaving me all alone.

Finally, I lose my battle with gravity and slide bonelessly down the wall. My head hurts. My ribs hurt. My shoulder hurts. My wrist is feels like a small forest fire is raging under my bandage.

Shaking my head, I mumble to myself, "What did you expect?"

-----

After Mark left last night, I packed a few things and rode my bike to a hotel. As I was checking in, the desk manager pointed out that my arm was bleeding. So, after I dumped my stuff in my room, I trekked to a nearby ER and discovered that my stitches were torn. I wound up spending four and a half hours waiting to get sewn back up. The doctor who worked on me noticed that my ribs and shoulder were bruised and started asking some uncomfortable questions. When I'd finally had enough, I decided to flash my badge, and whammo—the questions stopped. Apparently, my badge has super powers. I'll have to remember that.

After leaving the ER, I dragged myself back to the hotel where I spent the remainder of the night staring at the ceiling. Part of me wanted to pack my things and go back to Mark right then. Actually, I'm not even sure why I left in the first place. I guess I just wanted to rattle Mark's cage a little. Kind of a selfish thing to do, I guess. Mark probably came back a couple of hours later and completely freaked out when he realized I wasn't there. I should call him. Apologize.

A few minutes ago, I made it to work—ten minutes late, but I made it. When I stalked in and snatched my lab coat from the hook, I muttered an apology to H. But I'm not a bit sorry. At the moment, I couldn't care less about my job.

Letting out a breath, I get to work on a stack of trace evidence from various cases. As I slide a sample of some kind of syrup-like substance underneath my microscope, Calleigh and Eric stroll in.

"Hey, _you_," Calleigh says brightly. She places both elbows on the countertop and leans forward.

Eric ambles around the counter and stops beside me. Peering over my shoulder, he asks, "What are we looking at?"

I glance from Calleigh to Eric. "I don't know," I say, "I just got started."

"So," Calleigh says, "Last night, I was reading my tabs and eating a little popcorn, and the phone rang." Calleigh crosses her arms. "Tim, guess who it was. It was Mark."

Mark. The second she says that one relatively innocuous word, I feel a pain in my gut. If I didn't know better, I'd swear Calleigh had punched me in the stomach.

"Mark called?" I say, gripping the countertop.

"Yeah," Calleigh says, "He said you two had a big blow-up. He said he went out for a while to clear his head, and when he got back, you were gone."

I press my tongue into my cheek, trying to fend off the urge to laugh or cry—I'm not sure which. "Yeah, well I went out," I say.

Eric leans forward and cocks his head so that he can make eye contact with me. "Mark thought you might have ended up at Calleigh's, so he called there. Then she called me."

I shrug, glancing up at the ceiling. "All right. I spent the night at a hotel. What of it?"

"Well, Mark was worried," Calleigh says, "Look, he didn't go into details, but he said you were _really_ upset with him, and now he's afraid you might've left for good."

"I'm going to go back tonight, Cal," I say, "Is that okay?"

Eric puts a hand on my shoulder, but I shake it off. The last thing I need is Eric getting touchy-feely.

"Tim," Calleigh says, "He sounded really shaken. I just think you should call him."

"Yeah?" I say, "Well, I think you should mind your own business."

"C'mon, Speed you don't have to snap," Eric says, "We're worried about you is all."

Licking my lips, I shift from one foot to the other. "Drop it, Delko," I spit.

"Hey guys," H says as he walks briskly into the room, "Is there a problem?" Naturally, his gaze falls on me.

"Yeah," I say, "I'm having a bad day."

H cocks his head at me. "Well, that may be, but—"

"And you know what I'd really like?" I continue, "I'd like my private life to stay out of the public domain."

"We're just trying to help," Calleigh drawls.

I lean forward, so that I'm about three inches from Calleigh's face. "Yeah, well I'm trying to work. And I don't need you two harassing me about my love life. You know, this is why I never tell you two anything."

"All right," H says firmly, "Let's calm down. You have every right to your privacy, Speed," he says. Turning to Eric and Calleigh, he adds, "Is that clear?"

"Crystal," Calleigh says.

Glaring at me, Eric says, "Yeah, H."

Wordlessly, Eric and Calleigh brush past H and disappear down the hall. Maybe I shouldn't have dived down their throats like that, but I just can't handle their questions. If they found out what really happened between Mark and me last night . . . I mean, I'm a trained police officer. I've been through the Academy. But I can't defend myself. How does that make me look?

After a moment, H turns to me. "Listen, Frank's coming by. We have a witness who claims that one of the Carver's neighbors was at the Carver house the night Brendan died. I want you to go with him and check it out."

"Will do, H," I say.

H nods, and then leans against the counter. "You know, they're only prying because they care."

Nodding, I say, "I know, H. I'm just in a mood."

"All right," he says, "Just ease up. And if you want to talk . . ."

"Your office door's open," I say.

H pats me on the shoulder. "Right. You hang in there, partner."


	13. Remorse

Title: Unknown

Chapter 13

Author's Notes: Some of you have asked me if H or anyone else suspects that Mark is abusing Speed. Originally, I intended for this story to switch POVs between Speed and Eric. Ultimately, I decided to focus solely on Speed, so that I could better explore his situation. However, what I lost by doing this was the opportunity to see inside another character's head—to see the situation through Eric's eyes. In my experience, people tend to miss what is right in front of their eyes. Perhaps they don't want to see the truth because it is just too much to take—especially when you're close to someone. But don't worry; I have a love for happy endings.

Warnings: Slash and domestic abuse. Same old, same old.

-----

Frank and I arrive at Dylan Carmichael's house about 45 minutes after my blow-up with Eric and Calleigh. A witness puts Carmichael, a Philosophy major from U of Miami, at Brendan Carver's house the night Carver was killed. This is the first break we've had in a while, so I'm pretty anxious to question this guy.

I wound up catching a ride with Frank because my arm hurts too much to drive. Frank didn't even bat an eyelash when I gave him my rehearsed "I reopened my stitches moving a box" speech. That's one of the things I like about Frank—he doesn't ask a lot of questions.

"So, how's the tree-hugger?" Frank asks as we step out of the car.

I raise an eyebrow. This is a conversation I didn't think Frank and I would be having anytime soon. Or ever. "You mean Mark?" I say.

Frank glances at me. "You datin' two tree-huggers?"

"No, just the one. So Frank," I say, trying to avoid direct eye contact, "I didn't know you knew . . . y'know . . . about me and Mark."

"Department's like a small town, Speedle," Frank says, "You keep a secret for five minutes, you're doing good."

Tell me about it.

Licking my lips, I ask, "So you okay with this?"

Frank shrugs as he rings Dylan Carmichael's doorbell. "Why not? I got a sister who's into that. 'Course, I would've pegged Delko as playing for the other team, not you."

I gaze at Frank. Some people might've taken that as an insult, but coming from Frank, it's tantamount to an embrace and a tearful declaration of acceptance. You've got to know Frank.

After a few minutes, the door of Dylan Carmichael's house swings open, revealing a shirtless twenty-something guy with a scowl on his face. From the way his hair's all mussed up and the fact the button on his jeans is undone, I can only guess that we've interrupted a moment of romance.

Leaning against the doorframe, the scowling man asks, "What can I do for you?"

"You Dylan Carmichael?" Frank asks.

Our new friend lets out a breath. "Yeah. What is it you need?"

Not missing a beat, Frank flips out his badge. "Lt. Frank Tripp, Homicide." He gestures to me. "That's Detective Tim Speedle, Miami-Dade Crime Lab. We need to ask you a few questions."

Carmichael looks more than a little nonplussed. "Wh—what's this about? Wait a minute—is this about that Carver kid?" Stepping out onto his front step, Carmichael pulls the door closed. "I heard he got shot."

Rolling my eyes, I ask, "You know Brendan Carver?"

"I knew him to see him," Carmichael says, shrugging, "Admired his car once."

Frank grimaces. "Were you at his house admiring his car the night he was killed?"

Carmichael shakes his head. "No, man, I was home painting my kitchen."

I straighten my body. "Yeah? Well, someone puts you at his house that night."

Running his fingers through his hair, Carmichael says, "Well, I was over there for a minute. He had his music too loud, y'know? I went over to tell him to turn it down."

"You fight about it?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

"No," Carmichael says, "I told them to turn it down, they said they would, and I left. Look, you can ask my dad. He was helping me paint."

"We'll do that," Frank says.

"I'll get you his number," Carmichael says, turning to wrench open his door.

"Hey, wait a minute," I say, "You just said 'they.' Brendan wasn't alone?"

"No," Carmichael says, "He was with some girl."

-----

Some girl. Well, whoever it was, Carmichael's description didn't match Maggie Donahue. And as it turns out, Carmichael was on the up and up about painting his kitchen. That means we've lost one suspect and gained another—the mystery girl. Unfortunately, we have no idea who she is or where she is.

When I get back to headquarters, I catch H up on the particulars of the interview. He's as frustrated as I am about the dead ends we keep running into, so the meeting is pretty tense.

After I finish with H, I decide it's time to suck up my pride and apologize to my friends. Since Calleigh's nowhere to be found, I decide to start with Eric. When I find him sitting alone in the break room, I'm not sure what it is, but he looks…reflective. Maybe even depressed.

"Hey," I say, as I amble into the break room.

Eric glances up from his tuna salad sandwich. "Hey."

"Listen," I say, "you got a minute?"

At first, Eric doesn't answer. I can only guess that he's "punishing" me for my earlier outburst. After a few seconds of picking at his tuna salad, he finally relents and says, "What's going on?"

I take a deep breath and then release it. "I want to apologize for my earlier behavior."

Eric leans back in his chair. "I'm listening."

I lick my lips. "My attitude was uncalled for, Eric. I know you and Calleigh are concerned, but it's just that I've never been comfortable with people knowing a lot about my personal life. Mark and I are having problems right now, and guess I'm a little embarrassed about it."

Nodding, Eric says, "Well, we shouldn't have pushed. I mean, we could have handled it differently, you know, instead of ganging up on you." Eric gestures for me to sit down at the table. "So," he continues, "Are you and Mark calling it quits?"

"No," I say, biting my bottom lip, "I just left to rattle his cage. Pretty stupid thing to do. Listen," I say, snatching a pickle from Eric's plate, "There's something you should know. Mark's feeling little insecure, and he's convinced himself that there's something going on between you and me."

The muscles in Eric's face jerk. "What do you mean?"

I wave my hand between us. "You know."

"Well, you told him nothing's going on, right?" Eric says, his voice raising an octave.

"Calm down," I say, "He's not coming after you or anything. I didn't tell you so you could worry."

I stand up and walk over to the refrigerator, grabbing the sandwich and salad I picked up on my way to work. I toss the sandwich into the microwave and lean against the counter, watching Eric pick at his tuna salad. Maybe I shouldn't have told Eric what Mark and I were fighting about. Actually, I'm not sure why I did.

After almost a minute, Eric turns to me and asks, "So, when are you going back to him?"

"Tonight," I say. I pause for a few seconds, and then add, "I love him, Eric."

Eric regards me for a minute. "I know you do," he says quietly.

-----

I didn't find Calleigh until hours later. When I finally did run into her, I barely had the chance to open my mouth before she threw her arms around me, kissed me on the cheek, and told me (all in one breath) how sorry she was about barging into my life and how worried she'd been and how much she liked Mark and how silly it was that she and I had been fighting. Then she wiped the lipstick off my cheek and ran off to tell H something.

I honestly don't know how women do that. They seem to have this gift for just letting things go. One minute they're emotional messes, the next they're the pictures of professionalism.

After I recover from Calleigh's apology, I drag myself out the door and into the parking lot. I'm tired and aching, and right now, I just want to call Mark and try to work things out. Leaving last night was an idiotic move. If I want this relationship to work, I can't run every time something happens.

After I round the corner to where my bike is parked, I see Mark, leaning against his truck, his arms folded loosely across his chest.

He grins when he sees me. "Hey, stranger," he says.

I amble up to him, feeling strangely relieved to see him. "Hey right back at you."

We stand there silently for a moment, letting the awkwardness of the situation well up around us, and then fade away.

Finally, Mark points at my empty hands. "No helmet?"

I roll my eyes. "Alexx already gave me an earful."

"And rightfully so," he scolds, "Do you want to hurt yourself?"

I have to bite my lip to keep pointing out the absurdity of Mark telling me how worried he is about my getting hurt in light of last night.

"Oh," Mark perks up, "I have something for you."

A peace offering? A bribe? A present?

Mark hands me a silver-hued gift bag. "I thought of you when I saw it."

I reach into the bag and pull out a small box. Raising an eyebrow, I flip open the box, and inside, I discover a small crystal clock shaped like a motorcycle. "Whoa," I say, grinning, "This is great." I hold it up to the fading light of the sun and tilt it back and forth. It's idiotic, even girly, but I love that Mark buys me gifts. No one's ever done that for me before. I mean, sure, my parents send me gifts for my birthday and for Christmas, and we have a gift exchange in the lab every year. But for Mark to just surprise me with little things—I don't know. I guess I like the attention. Weird.

After a few seconds, I notice that Mark's looking over my shoulder, so I follow his gaze until I see Eric, who's across the parking lot, standing by his car. Eric's discarded the long-sleeved shirt he had on today. Now he's just wearing a tank top. He's got the hood of his car popped, and it looks like he's checking his oil.

I lick my lips.

"I'm sorry I got jealous," Mark says quietly.

Tearing my gaze away from Eric, I look at Mark. "You don't have anything to worry about," I say.

Mark nods. "I know. Tim," he says seriously, "what happened last night won't happen again."

I shake my head and let out a breath. "You don't have to say that, Mark," I say, "I'm not leaving you."

Mark regards me for a moment. "No, Tim. It'll never happen again."

Nodding, I say, "Okay."

Smacking me on the shoulder, Mark smiles. "So, dinner?"

"Sounds like I plan," I say. "What about my bike?"

"No problem," Mark grins, "I'll just load it into the back here, and we'll head out."

I half-watch as Mark struggles to haul my bike into the bed of his truck. Without really thinking, I let my gaze move from Mark to Eric. I'm more than a little surprised, though, to find Eric staring back at me. He nods slightly, and then returns to his engine.

I don't know why, but suddenly, I have an urgent desire to get out of this parking lot.

"We about ready?" I ask Mark.

"Yep," he announces, jumping down from the bed of his truck. "So, BBQ?"

"Yeah," I say, smiling as broadly as I can.

"Well, it sounds like we have a plan, then, Timmy!" Mark leans forward and kisses me on the cheek before walking around to the driver's side. Once inside, he unlocks the passenger door and motions me inside. "Let's roll."

Sneaking one last look at Eric, I climb into Mark's truck, lay my head back against the headrest, and close my eyes.


	14. Moods

Title: Unknown

Chapter14

Author's Notes: Timeline note—I'm skipping ahead a couple of weeks, so this chapter takes place approximately a month after the story started.

-----

Almost three weeks have passed since Frank and I interviewed Dylan Carmichael. Since that time, we haven't had a single new lead, even though we recanvassed the area, trying to find someone else who saw Brendan Carver's mystery girl. Last week, H finally decided to shelve the case until we find new evidence. I get the impression that H didn't make that particular decision alone. Word has it that H was pressured to "redirect department resources to more productive cases."

Consequently, H has been in a mood.

On the up side, H's bad mood has nothing to do with me. In fact, I've recently worked my way back into his good graces by finding a key piece of evidence on a case we just wrapped up.

On the home front, things are still and relaxed. Mark is a little tense because of work, but so far, things between us are good. I know this is just the calm before the storm, though. Inevitably, I'll say or do something stupid, and Mark will snap. This time, though, I'm not running. I mean, if I want this relationship with Mark to work, I have to put in the effort. It can't be all him.

My relationships with Calleigh and Eric have evened out a little…well, everything's back to normal with Calleigh. Eric's been keeping his distance, though. He's not brushing me off or anything like that. He's more just keeping things cool and professional. I'm not sure if this is because he's still wigged out by the fact that Mark thinks Eric and I are hot and heavy for each other, or if it's because he's doesn't want to cause anymore tension between Mark and me. I want to believe the latter.

Late in the afternoon, Eric breezes into the trace lab and hands Sam an evidence bag. "Hey," he says, nodding first at Sam, and then at me.

"What've you got?" Sam asks, taking the bag and inspecting it gingerly.

Eric grins. "That's what you geniuses are supposed to tell me."

Sam glances at me, and in his most serious voice, says, "Well, Speedle, at least he recognizes our vast talents."

"It's about time somebody does," I deadpan.

Laughing softly, Sam glances at the clock. "H was in here looking for you half an hour ago, Delko. Late lunch?"

"Uh, no," Eric says, peeking at his watch. "I had to stop by and see my priest." He bites his bottom lip. "Is he mad?"

Sam smiles sympathetically. "He put his hands on his hips and sighed."

Eric winces. "Great."

I lean forward. "You all right, Delko?"

Eric frowns. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, you had to go see a priest." Shrugging, I gesture in Eric's direction. "I don't know. That sounds pretty serious. I mean, no one died or anything, right?"

Eric smiles at me as if I just said the most idiotic thing he's ever heard. "No, Speed. Nobody died."

"Nobody except our victim, right gentlemen?" H says, as he strolls through the door. "Nice to see you, Eric."

Sam, Eric, and I all stare uncertainly at H. With the mood he's been in lately, it's best that we all choose our words carefully.

Finally, Eric fearlessly breaks the silence by saying, "I found a gooey substance on our vic's tires, H. I was just dropping it by trace."

H nods. Placing his hands on his hips, he says, "Sounds good. Keep me posted."

"Will do," Eric says.

I feel a vast amount of sympathy for Eric at the moment. He and Calleigh managed to wrap up their Pickle-guy mystery (or as everyone in the lab calls it, "The Fast Food Frenzy"). As it turns out, the killer was a man who worked as a walking advertisement for a beachside burger joint. The whole thing ended with Eric having to chase the guy—who was dressed as a giant hamburger—down the beach, in the middle of the day.

So, basically, Eric is never going to live it down. People have been saying things like "Now that's what I call fast food" to the poor guy for days.

Plus, now he gets the dubious honor of being partnered with H. This is good for me because it means the boss no longer deems it necessary for me to have a baby sitter. It's somewhat problematic for Eric, though, who seems to have recently taken over for me as resident lab screw-up.

Placing his sunglasses purposefully onto his face, H turns toward the door. "I have a meeting, gentlemen. If you need me, page me."

Biting my bottom lip to stifle a chuckle, I nod. "Good luck, H."

"Thanks," he says, almost to himself, "I'll need it."

-----

After H disappears, I turn to Sam. "You got this? I haven't had lunch yet."

Sam glances up. "I'm more than a match for a little goo," he says.

Smirking, I tug off my lab coat and stroll into the hallway. It doesn't take me long to realize I'm being followed.

"Hey, Speed," Eric says, as he catches up to me. "Can we talk?"

I turn left into the break room. "Sure," I say. "What's up?"

"Uh," Eric says, shifting from one foot to the other. "I was wondering what you and Mark are doing tomorrow night."

"You want the PG version?" I quip. Almost as soon as I say it, I wince. "Kidding, Delko."

Eric licks his bottom lip. "Whatever. So, what are you doing?"

I tug open the refrigerator and pull out my lunch. "Well, Mark's actually leaving tomorrow morning. He has to go to DC for a week—a thing with his job. Speaking at some meeting about everglades or something."

"So, it's just you?" Eric asks.

Walking over to the microwave, I toss my food inside close the door. As I punch the buttons on the timer, I say, "Yeah. Why? What's going on?"

Eric licks his lips and glances up at the ceiling. "Remember me telling you about that band?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"Well," Eric says, "They're playing tomorrow night. Calleigh and Hagen are coming."

"_And_ Hagen? I thought she was done with him." I frown, plunking myself down at a table.

Eric shrugs. "Yeah, well, she wanted to bring him." Sitting down across from me, Eric says, "I was going to ask if you and Mark wanted to come."

I hadn't forgotten Eric's invitation. I'd sort of given up on going, though. My relationships with both Mark and Eric have been too rocky for me to bring it up. "I could probably go," I say, trying to sound casual.

"I don't want to cause trouble," Eric says.

Leaning back, I say, "Well, get Calleigh to call. Mark likes her. If she tells him it's a group thing, I'm sure he'll let me go."

Eric laughs and shakes his head.

"What?" I say.

Eric snatches a French fry from my tray. "Don't you think it's weird that you have to ask your boyfriend's permission before you do something?"

I glare. "I'm just trying to show him some respect, Delko. You know, I'm in a relationship. That takes work, Mr. Commitment-Phobe."

Now it's Eric's turn to glare. "I like commitment just fine."

Letting out a breath, I say, "I don't want to hurt him, Eric. He's been burned bad. Y'know, so he's a little insecure."

"Yeah, well, he's not the only one."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Eric gazes at me. "Nothing. I'll have Calleigh call, okay? I want you to come."

I nod. "All right, Delko."

With that, Eric stands up, steals another French fry, and then breezes out the door.

-----

Calleigh can sweet talk almost anyone. It took her all of four minutes to coax Mark into practically ordering me to go out with everyone. Actually, Mark's being really great about all of this. I don't know. Maybe he's realized he doesn't have to worry so much about me.

In any case, I'm glad to be going out. I haven't spent the night away from Mark since the night I spent in that hotel, and with him gone for the week, I'm glad for the distraction.

I wind up catching a ride over with Eric. I figure if he gets lucky or something, I can catch a bus or a cab home. I've done it before. That's life being Eric's wingman. It's funny, though. I feel almost guilty having Eric come to my place without Mark being there. I keep having this fear that Mark'll realize he's forgotten something, and he'll come home to get it just in time to see me getting into Eric's car.

"So, uh…new shirt?" Eric says, as we round the corner leading away from my building.

I glance down at myself. "Yeah, I ruined my last good white shirt."

Eric raises an eyebrow. "How'd you do that? Or do I want to know?"

"Actually, I got ash and blood on it when you and I were in that club fire."

Glancing at me, Eric says, "And _that's_ how often you buy clothes?"

I grin. "Well, being around you is very dangerous, you know. I'm almost afraid to buy new clothes."

Eric flashes a mock-frown and shakes his head.

Smirking, I add, "Hopefully there won't be any fires tonight."

Eric licks his lips, glances at me, and then lets out a silent laugh.

-----

"No, I'm not saying that." Calleigh crosses her arms and turns about half-an-inch away from Hagen.

Undeterred, Hagen pivots himself around until he's facing Calleigh. "Well, then what?"

Calleigh lets out a breath. "Look, I don't want to talk about this here."

"We're already talking about it," Hagen says.

Eric and I exchange glances. A brief smile flashes across Eric's otherwise calm features, and I have to look away so I won't bust out laughing.

Really, it's not very funny. Calleigh and Hagen have been sniping at each other all night, even during the band's performance…something about a case that she and Hagen worked on…now it's gone to trial, and there's a snag. Naturally Hagen thinks it's all Calleigh's fault. This is par for the course with them, though.

Finally, Calleigh stands up, trying to rally what's left of her fading dignity. "Gentlemen, I'm going to visit the ladies room."

Hagen stands up to follow, but Calleigh shoots a glance over her shoulder. "You're not invited, John," she says.

Letting out a breath, Hagen glances at his watch. "I have to make a phone call." He walks a few feet, and then turns back to Eric and me. "I'm sorry. We should have left this at home."

"She should have left him at home," Eric says under his breath.

As we watch Hagen clomp away, I turn to Eric and deadpan, "It's the little moments like these that memories are made of."

Eric grins and nudges me with his elbow. "It's nice to have you back."

I let out a chuckle. "What do you mean?"

He gestures toward me. "This is the Tim Speedle I remember. He's fun when you loosen him up."

"As opposed to the boring guy I am the rest of the time," I say.

"No," Eric says, holding up a finger. "Not boring. Reticent."

"Reticent?" I say. "That's a big word, Delko."

"For a dumb jock?" Eric says. He's smiling, so I don't think he's serious. At least not totally. Sometimes, I get the impression that Delko doesn't think he's as smart as Calleigh or H or me. It probably doesn't help that Tyler occasionally has to "dumb down" his computer lingo to get Eric to understand him.

Leaning forward, I say, "You're not a dumb jock, Delko. You're a talented diver and a talented CSI."

Eric shifts in his seat. "And smart and handsome and witty?"

I roll my eyes dramatically, and Eric laughs in response.

"To be honest," I say, clearing my throat, "I do have to question your sanity. I mean, swimming in all that bacteria…"

"Well, I do like danger," Eric says, sitting up straighter.

I smirk. "You trying to find a pocket of radiation down there? Turn into a comic book superhero?"

Eric tries and fails to look humble. "Well, I do look good in tights."

"Is that why you like to slap on that wet suit? To show off your impressive body?"

Eric grins as though he's won something. "You think my body's impressive?"

Just then, we both hear someone clear their throat. When we glance up, we see Calleigh, her face scarlet red.

"I hate to do this to you, boys," she says, glancing at the floor. "But John and I are heading out."

"Taking the fight to another venue?" I ask, shifting uncomfortably in my seat.

Calleigh slaps a smile on her face. "Oh, no. We're fine."

Eric stands up. "You want us to go out there and kick his ass?"

Calleigh laughs. "Down boy." Snatching Hagen's car keys off the table, Calleigh glances first at Eric, then at me. Finally, she waves and says, "Behave yourselves, guys."

Swallowing, I decide to take advantage of Calleigh's exit. "I think I'll head out, too, Delko."

"What?" Eric says, turning his body so that he's directly facing me. "You gonna leave me here all alone?"

"You're a big boy, Delko," I say, as I stand up.

Reaching out to grab the sleeve of my shirt, Eric mock-whines, "Wait a minute. You're hurting my feelings, here. I'm very sensitive, you know."

Shaking my head, I sit back down. "You are?"

"Yeah," he nods earnestly. Scooting his chair closer to mine, he says, "People here'll think I don't have any friends. You want me to look unpopular?"

I can't seem to think of a witty comeback, so I just chuckle.

"I'm serious," Eric whines. "You could damage my self-confidence."

I roll my eyes. "Delko, you have self-confidence to spare."

Eric stirs what's left of my drink with his index finger. "That could be all an act," he says.

I glance around, suddenly feeling the urge to have something really cold to drink. "Then you're a convincing actor," I say.

"Speed," he says gripes, patting me on the shoulder. "You don't have a reason to go home this early. Keep me company."

Tugging at my bottom lip, I say, "You'll pick up some poor, unsuspecting person in no time."

Leaning forward, Eric glances at me, flashes a small grin, and then fixes his gaze on the ice and alcohol left in my glass. "I'm working on it."

Suddenly, it occurs to me that I've seen Eric act like this before—every time he drags me out to a club so he can pick up a girl. Like a flood, the reality hits me—Eric is flirting with me, and I'm pretty sure it's intentional.

Yikes.


	15. Player

Title: Unknown

Chapter 15

Author's Notes: Just remember…I told you guys this would be long. Also, I don't say this enough, but thanks for all the feedback. You guys rock!

-----

He has to do this _now_?!?!

Currently, I'm sitting in a club with Eric, trying desperately to calculate the time it would take me to sprint to the front door.

Meanwhile, Eric's in Full Predator Mode. I've seen this scenario play out in clubs dozens of times—Eric decides he wants someone, so he circles his prey for a while, and then _boom!_—he pounces on his victim, rendering them helpless to his considerable charms. The unsuspecting victim doesn't have a chance. What makes this particular situation unique is that I happen to be the prey.

Fortunately, I have an insider's knowledge of Eric's methods. I can fight this.

Resolved, I stand up and point my thumb toward the door. "I need to go," I say firmly.

There. Done. If I remove myself from Eric's presence before this spins out of control, I'm good.

Eric rises from his seat, undoubtedly planning to stop me. I figured this would happen. No problem. All I have to do is stay strong and get myself out of this club before the hypnotic rhythms of the music emanating from the loudspeakers render me powerless.

Eric nods. "You're right," he says.

I am?

Reaching into his pocket, Eric tugs out his car keys. "Yeah," he says, smiling. "Let's get out of here."

"What?" I say, momentarily stunned.

Damn. I got blindsided like a rookie. What was I thinking? I should've expected this. After all, I've seen him do this before. It's Eric's version of "Let's go somewhere quiet and talk."

"You can stay," I suggest, even though I know it's a futile effort.

"Nah," Eric says. "It's too loud in here, anyway."

Yep. He wants to go somewhere quiet. And…talk? Sure.

Eric and I stumble out the exit into the parking lot. As the balmy night air hits me, I narrow my eyes at Eric's car. _That's_ not an option. So I need to find a bus stop. My eyes scan the area, looking for the nearest stop that will get me home.

Just then, Eric places his hand on my shoulder, causing me to practically jump out of my skin.

Grinning, Eric says, "Jumpy?"

Shrugging, I half-choke, "Why would I be jumpy?"

Eric smirks. "Sexual tension?"

Laughing, I lick my lips. "Yeah, Delko. That must be it." I glance desperately around the parking lot. "You got me. Get a grip." I intended for all of that to come out super-casual, but instead, it all rocketed from my mouth in one breath.

Placing a hand on each of my shoulders, Eric chuckles, "Take it easy, Speed."

"I am taking it easy," I snap.

Squeezing my shoulders, Eric says, "You want to head back to my place? Get some pizza?"

No. That's _absolutely _not an option. Swallowing, I take a step backward. This has gone too far. I need to let Eric down gently. Rallying nerves and rational mind, I eloquently say, "Um…"

Eric leans against the car. "Or we could hit a restaurant."

I shake my head. "I'm thinking I'm going to catch a bus. Okay?"

"I got a car," Eric says patiently.

Letting out a breath, I say, "I'm not sure me getting into the car would be a good idea."

Eric stands up straight and folds his arms across his chest. "Look, Speed…I've had a lot of time to think."

"Eric," I say. "Don't."

Taking a step forward, Eric says, "Would you hear me out?"

I shake my head. "Delko, I know where this is going."

"Do you?" Eric asks, inching even closer to me.

Realizing that Eric's getting a little too close for my own good, I sidestep him and walk toward his car. "Delko, I've seen you on the prowl."

He shakes his head. "It's not like that, Speed."

"What's it like?" I ask.

Eric turns his back to me for a moment. When he faces me again, he says "I'm attracted to you, Speed."

Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. I cross my arms, and then uncross them.

"Look, Delko," I say, sitting down on the hood of his car. "This is crazy even for you."

My decision to sit down on Eric's car turns out to be a critical one, as Eric takes several steps forward, closing the gap between us and leaving me without an escape route. He places one hand on either side of my body, holding me in place.

"Speed, I've been thinking about this for a while," he says.

Biting my bottom lip, I say, "I have a boyfriend."

Eric reaches up and caresses my cheek with his index finger. "Trust me. I know that."

Turning my face away from his touch, I say, "Delko, I'm not here to satisfy your curiosity."

Glaring at me, Eric whines, "This isn't about my curiosity. It's about…" Licking his lips, Eric lets out a breath and leans forward until his body is half-pressing against mine.

I'm not dense. I know what's coming next. I should fight it, but instead, I lean forward to make it easier.

Eric cradles my jaw in one hand and steadies himself against the car with the other. Then, he presses his lips hard to mine.

Like an idiot, I lean totally into the kiss, exploring Eric's mouth with my own. I can taste a faint hint of pina colada on his breath, and I can feel his heart beating like crazy against my chest. My arms loop around Eric's ribcage, yanking him more tightly against me, and I deepen the lip-lock even more.

After almost a minute, my brain reboots and I realize what I'm doing. Placing my hands against Eric's chest, I push him off of me. "Okay, we have to stop," I pant.

Eric's face is flushed, and he's out of breath. He places a hand against his own lips. "I think I'm going to pass out," he says.

Me too.

The awkwardness of the moment settles around us, and so does a noticeable silence. After a few seconds, I can't take it anymore, so I say, "Uh…" And then I shake my head helplessly and let my voice trail off.

Eric plunks himself down beside me on the hood. "Man, I'm not sure what to say," he says.

Swallowing, I twist my body until I'm facing him. "I should've stopped it, Eric."

He shakes his head. "Why? Felt like you wanted it as much as I did."

I jump down off the hood of the car and face Eric. "I'm in a relationship with a man I love."

Frowning, Eric says, "Look, I—"

I advance on him. "And I told you, Eric. I'm not here to satisfy your curiosity."

Eric glowers at me. "That's not what that was about, Speed."

"Really?" I snap. "What? Do you love me?"

Eric stares at the ground.

"Right," I say. Crossing my arms forcefully, I begin to pace back and forth. "What? Is this territorial or something? You don't like the fact that I'm _happy_? Or are you just bored, so you figured you'd experiment on me?"

Standing up, Eric punts a rock across the parking lot. "I…Speed, it's not like that. I care about you."

Then why play head games with me?

"Whatever." Jerking my thumb toward the club, I say, "I have been down this road with you before."

Screwing up his face, Eric asks, "What do mean?"

"I mean I'm not one of your one night stands, Delko."

"Oh, come on!"

"No," I say, shaking my head. "You've been blazing a trail through the women of Miami for years, Eric. You're a player."

"That's stupid," Eric says.

"How many serious relationships have you been in?" I ask.

Eric runs a hand his dark hair. After a few seconds, he croaks, "You're different, Tim."

I want to believe him, but I just can't. I know him too well. And besides, however Eric feels about me, I still love Mark.

"Eric," I say. "I'm in love with Mark, and I'm not risking my relationship with him. You know," I say, fighting back the tears that threaten to leak out, "He was right to worry about me and you. I've betrayed him."

Gazing at the sky, Eric says, "What do you see in that smarmy prick?"

"He loves me, Eric," I say gently. "And he gives me some stability. I've never had that before."

Letting out a hard breath, Eric says, "I talked to my priest about you. And about my feelings for you."

Clearing my throat, I say, "That's…really?"

"You know," he says, looking me in the eye, "There's a difference between stability and an iron cage."

Grimacing, I say, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Doesn't matter," Eric says. Then, walking around to the driver's side of his car, he gestures at me. "Get in. I'll run you home. And I'll be a gentleman."


	16. Aftermath

Title: Unknown

Chapter 16

-

Leaning against my locker, I close my eyes tight, cradling the cell phone in my right hand. With the index finger of my left hand, I trace the grooves of Eric's locker.

"You all right, Timmy?" Mark asks.

Shrugging, I say, "It's just good to hear your voice."

"You having a rough case?" Mark's voice is gentle and quiet, concern lacing every word.

If he knew how I betrayed him last night…

"Nah," I say, gripping the cell phone like a vice. I close my eyes and lean back hard against the cool metal of the locker.

"Horatio on your back?"

Letting out a breath, I say, "No. I mean, he's in a mood, but it's fine. So, uh, when are you coming home?"

"Miss me?" Mark asks, chuckling softly.

"Well, yeah," I say. "I'm going crazy without you."

About then, I realize I'm not alone, so I open my eyes and scan the locker room. Soon, my gaze falls on the doorway, where I find Eric standing there, his eyes boring into me.

Eric, my coconspirator.

It's funny. I never pictured myself as the kind of guy who would betray the man he loves, but that's exactly what I did last night. I mean, all Eric and I did was kiss. But I'm having trouble thinking of what we shared as "just a kiss."

"Hang on, Mark." I cover the mouthpiece of the phone. "What?" I say to Eric.

Eric licks his bottom lip and points over his shoulder. "Calleigh needs you in trace."

I nod. "And so you came to look for me? What? You're the lab messenger boy now?"

Crossing his arms, Eric takes a step forward. "Look, she said she needs you," he says. "I'm trying to help is all."

I narrow my eyes. "Hang on. Mark?"

"Duty calls?" Mark asks.

"Something like that," I say, shooting a look at Eric. "Think you can get home early, babe?"

Grimacing, Eric leans against the wall with a thud.

"Well, hon," Mark says. "I'd _rather_ be with you than talking to a room full of suits about the degradation of the Everglades."

"But you're trapped."

"Like a caged animal," Mark laughs.

"All right," I say. "Well, I love you, hon. Just come home."

Before I do something colossally stupid with Eric.

Snapping the cell phone closed, I stride out of the locker room into the hallway, Eric close behind me.

It's funny. I've heard people say that sometimes a kiss can be more significant than the lovemaking process itself. I'm not sure what I think about that, but what I shared with Eric last night…I don't know. It's like we have some weird claim on each other now…like we've bonded in some momentous way.

"So, is he coming home early?" Eric asks.

"Probably not," I say. "Why? Plotting your next move?"

Eric comes to a stop in the middle of the hallway, his body stiff. He takes in a deep breath, and then slowly releases it.

Rolling my eyes, I trudge back to him. "Sorry," I say, stopping in front of him.

"No, you're not," Eric says.

I cock my head at Eric for a moment, my tongue pressing against the inside of my cheek. Shrugging, I finally say, "You're right. I'm not."

Laughing dryly, Eric opens his mouth to reply, but then he just shakes his head. After a few seconds, he takes a step forward and says, "Look, Speed…I crossed the line last night."

Eric's words cause a sense of relief to flood over me, and I immediately feel the tension start to leave my shoulders and neck. Shooting a glance over my shoulder, I say, "No, I'm the one in a relationship, Eric. I should've—"

Eric holds up his hands. "No, come on. I can get really focused when I want someone."

When he _wants_ someone…

I laugh slightly, licking my bottom lip, and I glance up at the ceiling.

About then, I hear Calleigh behind me. "'Scuse me, boys," she says.

I pivot my body around until I'm facing her. From the look on her face, I'm guessing she's been standing there "long enough."

"Tim," she says. "I really need you to run something for me. Do you have time?"

"Yeah," I say, trying to pick my dignity up off of the ground. "Actually, Eric was just bringing me to you."

She tosses Eric a look. "That was helpful."

Eric shoves his hands in his pockets and walks a few steps away, turning his back to Calleigh and me.

"So, Delko," I say. "We'll talk?"

Maybe in a crowed church or library or somewhere?

Eric glances over his shoulder. "After work?"

"Okay," I nod.

As Calleigh and I walk away, Calleigh leans close to me and whispers, "Well?"

I roll my eyes. "Well what?"

"Well," she says. "What happened between you two last night?"

As we enter the trace lab, I tug my lab coat off the rack. "Nothing happened, Cal."

She smacks me on the shoulder. "Oh, don't give me that. I saw you two in the hall, and I've been through enough—"

"Okay," I say. "What happened between you and Hagen last night?"

Calleigh glares at me. "Oh, all right," she says, crossing her arms. "Point taken."

Taking the bag of evidence from Calleigh's hand, I walk over to my workstation and pull on a pair of latex gloves.

As I work, Calleigh leans against the counter cradling her chin in her hands. "Tim," she singsongs.

Damn. I know that tone. "Cal," I say.

She smiles sweetly. "You tell me something. I tell you something."

I tighten my lips in an effort to keep from grinning at her audacity. "Cute," I say. "Look—"

"Oh, Tim, we both know I'm going to keep bugging you," she says. "Do I have to pry it from Eric?"

Letting out a breath, I grouse, "All right, Cal. You win."

Positively beaming, she walks around my workstation and watches over my shoulder as I process her evidence. When I don't immediately spill my guts, she says, "Okay."

I smirk. "You first, princess."

Rolling her eyes, Calleigh twirls a lock of hair around her index finger. "All right," she drawls. "All right. John and I are calling it quits."

"Again?" I deadpan.

"No," she protests. "This is it. I've decided that my relationship with John isn't healthy. I mean, we fight all the time, and then we make up, and then we fight." She gestures in the air with her hands. "It's like this cyclical thing." She shrugs. "I don't know. It's just not that easy to walk away."

No kidding.

After a few moments, she crosses her arms. "So, your turn, Mr. Nothing Happened."

Great. Well, I'm not going to tell her about the kiss. A scandalous bit of information like that, and she'd probably blow a fuse. I'd have to administer CPR or something.

Shifting from one foot to the other, I chew on my bottom lip. Finally, I screw up my courage and say, "Last night after you left, Eric kind of told me he's attracted to me."

Calleigh's eyes grow huge. All in one breath, she asks, "What? He actually said that? What did you say?"

I glance around the lab, trying to avoid making direct eye contact with Calleigh. "It's no big thing, Cal. I told him I'm in love with Mark."

Good grief. Two months ago, my private life was private. Now, I'm dishing gossip with Calleigh like two schoolgirls in a junior high lunchroom. What the hell?

Of course, I'm also nursing some asinine schoolboy crush on Eric, so I guess my mental regression from a thirtysomething adult to a teenager is complete.

Calleigh places her hands on my chest. "Well, I hope you were firm," she says. "I don't want you to get hurt. I mean, you know what he's like."

Everybody in the lab knows what Eric's like. He goes through lovers like water. Tyler used to joke that he should make a database of Eric's former girlfriends so we could all keep track. I mean, Eric's a good guy. As a friend, he's terrific. But as a potential love interest? Danger, Will Robinson.

Swallowing, I lean against the counter and say, "Cal, I'm not dumping Mark for Eric. I have _some_ sense of self-preservation."

-

Part of me is kicking myself for asking Eric to meet me after work. I know I have to suck it up and talk to him about last night, but now that I'm sitting here in the diner, across from the guy in question, I realize that I have no idea what to say to him.

Finally, I gulp down some ice tea and lean back in the booth.

"So."

"So."

Well, that was a good icebreaker.

"Look, Tim," Eric says, leaning his body way further over the table than he needs to. "I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable last night."

I nod, letting out a breath. "It's okay."

"But I'm not sorry I kissed you."

Huh? Okay, when I mentally pictured this conversation, that wasn't in the script.

"Well," I say, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "I hope you got it out of your system."

Eric smirks. "I told you. That wasn't what it was about."

As I'm pondering my witty retort, our waitress, Jolie, breezes up to the table. "Have you two decided?"

Eric stares blankly at the poor woman. "Um…Just a burger and fries," he says.

"Yeah," I say. "The same, and bring me some barbeque sauce. And could I get that burger well done?"

Jolie winks at me. "Sure, sugar. Do you two want salad or coleslaw?"

"Coleslaw," I say.

Eric nods. "Yeah, same here."

After Jolie vanishes through the swinging door that leads to the kitchen, Eric grimaces, "Barbeque sauce?"

"Yeah. For my fries," I say, shrugging.

"For your _fries_?"

"Yes, Delko," I grumble. "For my fries."

Grinning, Eric leans back and gazes at me. After a long few seconds, he says, "You know, if this was just about my curiosity, I could go to a club and pick up a guy."

With my straw, I stir my tea, watching the chips of ice swirl around. "Delko, you freaked out the second you found out about me and Mark," I say, almost inaudibly. "So, now you're hitting on me. Can you see why I have questions?"

"I told you," he says, shifting in his seat. "When I found out you were…with Mark, it was a shock."

I gesture toward him. "Now you're so over it you want to try it yourself?"

Eric takes a sip of his cola. "All right. Look, there was a guy in college, all right?"

"And?"

Scooting forward, Eric whispers, "And we messed around a little bit. Just kissing and stuff." He stops and tugs on his bottom lip. "I love women, all right? But…I was into this guy."

I narrow my eyes. "What happened?"

Eric bites his bottom lip. "I just couldn't handle it. I was confused, you know, and I freaked out on him. Told him I never wanted to see him again." Eric pauses for a moment, and then continues, "You know, you have to understand, Speed…I wasn't exactly raised in a family that accepted…that."

Lowering my voice, I say, "Okay, I'm dense here. You're attracted to both men and women? Or was the college guy a fluke?"

Letting out a breath, Eric says, "I used to tell myself he was a fluke. But the truth is I _have_ been attracted to other men." He glances over his shoulder. "I just wouldn't let myself admit it."

"So…what are you admitting to yourself now?"

Eric leans back in his seat for several seconds, and then lurches forward. "I'm not gay."

"Okay," I say gently.

"Look," he says, kneading the muscles in his shoulder with one hand. "All I know for sure is how I feel about you."

"Here we go, boys!" Jolie says, swooping over to the table, her arms laden with our dinner. "Now honey," she says to me. "If this isn't done enough, you holler."

Smiling, I say, "It's probably perfect."

Winking first at me, and then at Eric, Jolie places our food in front of us and glides off to another table.

"Look, Eric. I'm not going to pretend I'm not attracted to you." I swallow, trying to ward off the burning in my cheeks. Closing my eyes tight, I say, "There are so many reasons why this can't work."

With his thumb and index finger, Eric rubs his eyes. "I know," he says. "Logically, I know that."

"Eric…"

"But I can't help how I feel." Taking a long drink of cola, Eric shakes his head and slumps into the vinyl cushions of the booth.

I take a bite of my hamburger, followed by a spoonful of coleslaw. I'm grateful our food is here, because it gives me a convenient way to stall. Even if Mark and I weren't together, a romantic relationship with Eric could be disastrous. First of all, there's Eric's fast-and-loose take on romance. He may be interested now…but what happens when he gets bored? And there's our job to think about. I have no idea how H would react to two of his CSIs trading valentines.

After I swallow my food, I pick up my glass of tea and gaze up at Eric, who's staring blankly at his plate.

"Eric," I say. "I know you don't like Mark."

"Yeah, well…" Eric mumbles.

"But I love him, Eric," I say, leaning forward. "He's a good man. He is."

Eric doesn't respond. Instead, he picks up a fork and starts to make little tracks in his coleslaw.

I gaze at Eric for several seconds, and then, impulsively, I reach across the table and grab his hand. Kind of a stupid thing to do in a public place, yeah. "Eric," I say, my voice cracking slightly. "You're my best friend. And I'm afraid I'm going to…I'm afraid I'm going to lose you over this. I don't want that."

Eric bites his bottom lip. "You're not going to lose me, Speed. That's not going to happen."

Swallowing, I clear my throat and say, "I do love him, Eric. Okay? And I'm asking you to respect that."

After a few seconds, Eric squeezes my hand. "I will for now."

Pulling his hand free from mine, Eric reaches across the table a snatches a French fry off my plate. He dips it into the little dab of barbeque sauce I squirted near my fries and pops it into his mouth. "Barbeque sauce," he says, frowning.

Narrowing my eyes, I ask, "It's good, right?"

Eric flashes a quick grin. "I'm not sure _why_ I'm attracted to you. You're weird, you know?"


	17. Good

Title: Unknown

Chapter 17

Author's Notes: It's taken me _this _long to get Eric into a wetsuit!

* * *

Leaning over the railing, I scan the water, trying to catch a glimpse of Eric. To my left, two of Eric's fellow divers chit chat about the weather…of course, considering they're on a boat in the middle of the ocean, diving for evidence, I guess they probably have more than a passing interest in what the skies might look like in the next half hour. 

A few feet away, Alexx is having a conversation with Luke Collin, a thirty-five year old banker who currently has a letter opener sticking out of his throat. Taking another glance at the ocean, I let out a breath and trudge over to join Alexx and her new friend.

"Has he told you anything interesting?" I ask, kneeling down beside Alexx.

Alexx glances up at me. "He told me he died at approximately 3 pm."

I narrow my eyes at the letter opener. "Weird choice for a murder weapon. You know. For a guy who died on a boat, anyway."

Alexx flashes me a smile—the kind of smile my mother used to give me when I'd take apart the record player to see how it worked. "Well, it got the job done, baby," she says. "So, Mark's due home tonight, right?"

Nodding, I reach into my kit and pull out a pair of tweezers. "Yeah, H is letting me leave early to pick him up." With the tweezers, I pull a small white thread off the vic's hair.

Alexx leans back on the balls of her feet and gazes at me. "So, when am I going to meet this guy?"

I roll my eyes. "Soon," I say.

Raising her eyebrows, Alexx says, "That's what you said last month, Timmy. What? Are you ashamed of me?"

I smirk. Trust Alexx to employ guilt when necessary. "Of course I'm not."

"Are you ashamed of him?"

I give Alexx a look. "No, I'm not ashamed of him, either," I grouse. Then I grin. "I just like keeping you to myself."

Actually, that's pretty much the truth. Alexx is _my _friend, not _our_ friend, and I like that. Besides, I know Alexx. She'll take one look at him and decide he's not good enough for me.

Alexx looks me up and down. "Well, I want to meet this guy, Tim, or I'm going to call him myself."

Rolling my eyes, I say, "All right, Alexx. I'll bring him by after I pick him up tonight. Okay?"

Nodding, Alexx says, "That's better."

"Try and be nice to him," I say.

Alexx grimaces. "Well, now what do you think I'd do?"

"Intimidate him," I say.

"Please," Alexx says. "He's going to love me."

I glance toward the railing of the boat. "What's taking Delko so long?"

Alexx shrugs. "Maybe he's found something."

Narrowing my eyes at the dark blue water, I murmur, "You don't think he's gotten eaten by a shark or something."

The two waiting divers burst out laughing. Great.

Just then, I see Eric's head appear over the railing. One of the divers walks over and helps Eric into the boat.

I stand up a little too fast and nearly fall backward. Fortunately, this goes unnoticed by everyone but Alexx, who grins a little, but doesn't say anything.

I hurry over to Eric, who's peeling off the top part of his gear. "What took you so long?" I ask.

One of the divers, a blonde named Brock (figures), with a deep bronze suntan, says, "He thought you got eaten by a shark, Delko."

I shoot Brock a glare, and then turn to Eric, who's trying and failing not to grin. "Did you find anything?" I ask, trying to sound professional.

Eric shakes his head. "No dice. And no sharks."

Brock glances up at the sky. "A storm's brewing. We should probably get back."

Eric nods in agreement, and runs his hand through his hair. Brock motions to his buddy, and the two clomp off, presumably to tell the driver or Captain or whatever to get us home.

As his two colleagues disappear around the corner, Eric glances up at the sky, lets out a breath, and then leans down to stow something in his bag.

I take advantage of Eric's…position to sneak a glance at his backside. Nice. The man always did look good in a wetsuit. I should feel guilty, and I suppose I sort of do. But it's not like I'm touching.

Licking my lips, I turn back to check on Alexx and find her grinning at me. Oh crap. Now I'll never hear the end of this.

* * *

"Tim, wait a minute." Mark stops dead in the hallway leading to the morgue and tugs at the sleeves of his shirt. "Do I look all right?" 

"You look fine," I say, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek. It's funny. I still feel like I'm doing something scandalous every time I kiss Mark on department property. I don't know why. Word of my new romantic status spread over the department like wildfire within two weeks of Mark's first appearance here. Other than a few dark stares, I haven't really been hassled. But still, to act so free with him in public…this is uncharted territory.

Mark's been pretty tense since I told him I was bringing him here to meet Alexx. He's asked me to have her over more than once, but I always found an excuse to put it off. Now, here I am, hauling the poor guy to meet her on a moment's notice. Mark wants to make a good impression. I guess being dragged off an airplane and driven to the morgue while he's nursing a stiff neck and wearing the clothes he slept in during his flight wasn't what he had in mind.

Glancing at the swinging doors that spill into the autopsy chamber, Mark asks, "Are we going to have to go in _there_?"

I don't even try to fight the grin. "No," I say. "When I called from the airport, Alexx said she'd meet us right here as soon as she changes into her civvies."

"All right," Mark says, letting out a weary breath. "I really want to make a good impression on her."

"I know."

"I understand what she means to you."

"I know."

About then, swinging door fly open, and Alexx emerges from the morgue. "Well, you two are here already," she beams. "Here I thought I'd have to wait."

Biting my lip, I say, "Well, we caught all the lights." I twist my neck toward Mark, who's still standing a few feet away. "C'mere, babe."

Raising his eyebrows slightly, Mark walks up to me from behind and places a hand on either of my shoulder.

"Alexx," I say with a breath, "This is Mark. Mark, this is Alexx, our medical examiner and my friend."

Mark leans forward so that his chest is against my back. Reaching around my waist, he holds out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Dr. Woods," he says. "Tim's told me a lot about you."

Alexx takes a step forward and grasps Mark's hand. "It's about time we met," she says, shooting me a glare. "So, you're an environmentalist?"

"Yes, ma'am," Mark beams. "We're a couple of science nerds, aren't we, Tim?"

I nod.

Alexx crosses her arms and looks Mark up and down. I have to admire her audacity. Most people wouldn't have her nerve. After a long, awkward (for Mark) moment, she says, "What are your long term plans, Mark?"

Mark claps his hands back onto my shoulders. Squeezing my muscles, he says, "Um…career-wise?"

"Tim-wise," Alexx says.

I wince, my cheeks starting to burn.

Mark squeezes my shoulders again, this time more firmly. "We plan to stay with each other for the rest of our lives." Kissing my on the top of the head, he asks, "Right, Timmy?"

"Right," I say.

Alexx nods, as if she's considering a new scientific hypothesis. "Mmm. Does your work take you to DC a lot?"

"More than I'd like," Mark says. He runs his hands up and down my arms. "Or Tallahassee. Sometimes I have to speak at conferences. Mostly, though, I meet with lawmakers."

"Mmm." Alexx nods slowly. "Do you plan to stay in Tim's apartment?"

Alexx thinks I live in "a hole in a bad part of town." A willingness on Mark's part to stay there would be a strike against him.

Mark raps on my shoulder with his knuckles. "We'll buy a house, eventually. I want to buy another car, though. Get Tim off that deathtrap bike."

I roll my eyes. "I like the bike."

"Well, I don't," Mark says, painfully kneading the muscles in my shoulders. "We're getting a second car."

I think about arguing, but I don't want to spoil Mark's first day back.

"Well," Mark says. "It was great to meet you, Dr. Woods. But I think we'd better get home. We still haven't eaten, and I'm pretty tired."

Alexx nods. "I'm glad I got to meet you, Mark."

Mark finally lets go of my shoulders and walks over to Alexx. "You'll have to bring your husband over for dinner sometime."

"We'll do that," Alexx says. I know that tone, though. It says she's not exactly jazzed to get together with Mark anytime soon.

Mark pats me on the arm. "Let's go, hon."

"I'll be out in a minute, Mark," I say. "I have a candy bar in the glove box if you're hungry."

Mark grins as he backs down the hallway. "This is what you're eating while I'm gone? I hope there's food in our refrigerator."

After Mark rounds the corner, I turn to Alexx. "You don't like him," I accuse.

Alexx looks away. "I'm sure I'll get used to him."

I cross my arms. "I don't want you to get used to him," I say. "I want you to like him."

Alexx stops and faces me. Letting out a breath, she says, "I just don't like the way he paws all over you. It's like you're a possession, not a person."

"That's not true," I say. "He's sweet, hardworking…"

"He held onto you like he was your keeper, baby, and I don't like it." Alexx's tone of voice indicates that her decision is final, and I'm not going to talk her into liking Mark by expounding upon his virtues. I had a feeling she'd react this way, but I guess I was holding out hope that Mark would charm Alexx like he did everyone else.

Letting out a resigned breath, I walk over to Alexx and kiss her on the cheek. "Well, I hope you change you mind, because I love him."

* * *

Mark and I don't talk during the drive home. The flight took a lot out of him, so he sleeps in the passenger seat while I drive. When we finally get to our building, I jostle him awake. "Rise and shine, babe," I say. 

Mark opens his eyes and greets me with a sleepy smile. "Hey," he says.

"Let's just order out," I say. "You're too tired to cook, and let's face it—my cooking's not edible."

"That'll work, hon," Mark says. As we drag ourselves up the stairs to our apartment, Mark reaches up and rubs my neck. "So, what did she think?"

I glance at him. "Alexx? Oh, she didn't say much."

"She didn't like me, did she?" Mark says.

Swallowing, I say, "She didn't say that."

"You didn't tell her anything?"

I lick my lips. "What would I tell her?"

When we reach our apartment, I thrust my hand into my pocket and tug out my key. Pressing my hand against the door, I insert the key into the lock and jiggle it a little. Finally, the lock turns, I shove open the door, Mark and I walk silently into the darkening room.

Dropping his suitcase on the floor with a thud, Mark says, "I just got the impression Alexx didn't like me, and I wonder if you told her something."

"I didn't," I say. "She's just over-protective of me is all. What would I tell her?"

"That we fight a lot?" Mark suggests.

"I didn't tell her that," I say. "It's none of her business."

"No, it isn't her business," Mark says. "And we're getting along."

"Yeah, we are," I say.

Mark walks over to me and wraps his arms around my waist. "The past is in the past. I just don't want people thinking I'm a monster."

"I haven't told anybody," I say.

"I'm glad about that, Timmy. 'Cause we're doing good again. There are people with way worse problems than us."

I lean my head against his chest. "I know."

Mark threads his fingers gently though my hair. "Like those people in the morgue."

Burrowing my head deeper into Mark's chest, I say, "I know, babe. We're lucky."

Mark lifts my head up and kisses me chastely on the lips. "Yeah. We're good."

"Yeah," I say. "Yeah. We're good."


	18. Trembling

Title: Unknown

Chapter 18

Author's Notes: This was a difficult chapter to write. I wanted to explain some of what's going on in Tim's mind and why he puts up with the abuse. Also, I wanted to hint at why Tim might shy away from a relationship with Eric.

* * *

I can usually tell it's going to be one of _those _nights as soon as Mark walks through the door. It's bizarre. There's a tangible difference in air when Mark's in one of his volatile moods. It's the like the oxygen in the atmosphere starts to dissipate, leaving something thick and barely breathable in its place. And the tension in the room becomes kinetic…it crackles like a live wire and propels Mark's rage forward. 

Tonight was one of those nights. If I'm being honest, it's been coming for a while. Mark and I have had more than a month of peace, tethered by his promises and weakened by my betrayal. Something was bound snap eventually.

"I'm sorry," Mark says for the tenth time.

"I know," I say, pressing the ice bag against Mark's hand. "I don't think it's broken."

But I'm not sure I can say the same for my ribs.

With his uninjured hand, Mark runs his fingers through his hair. "I can't believe I fell like that."

Fell? Yeah, sure, if losing your balance after taking a swing at someone is falling, then, yeah, I guess he fell. Though I wouldn't say it out loud, some vindictive part of me is elated that Mark ran his fist into the wall. At least it was the wall and not my face.

Blowing out a breath, I lean forward to grab a wet washcloth from the coffee table. When I move, my ribs start screaming at me to stay still. I bite my lip and try to ignore the pain, but a sharp stab causes me to groan.

"You're hurt," Mark says, cocking his head at me.

You think? Ass.

"I'm sore," I say. "I'm all right." Clenching my jaw, I lean my body gingerly back on the couch. Mark pummeled my ribs pretty hard this time. They're bruised, at least, could be broken.

Mark holds out the ice bag. "You want this for a while?"

"No," I say.

Mark ignores me and pushes me gently back on until I'm half-lying he couch. He holds the ice bag against the right side of my rib cage. Chewing on his bottom lip, Mark says, "You want to go to the ER?"

Sit here in pain, or drag myself to the hospital and stare down some well-meaning nurse who asks too many questions for my comfort. That's a regular buffet of choices. "If _you _need to," I say.

I close my eyes. I knew tonight would happen sooner or later. I knew it before Mark got on that plane for Washington DC, and I damn sure knew it after I let Eric kiss me. The funny thing about tonight, though, is that it didn't happen because Mark found out about Eric and me. That's a treachery Mark has yet to discover. This happened because I forgot to call and tell Mark I was going to be home late tonight.

I'm so tired of this. I really am. I love Mark, and I'm not walking away. And I don't _want_ to walk away. When I think back to my parents, I remember how distant they were to each other, and to me. My dad was always at the restaurant, and my mom was always organizing a bake sale or a food drive or something, something to keep her busy enough that she wouldn't realize how lonely that big, obnoxious house of ours really was most of the time.

I hardly ever remember seeing my parents kiss or lie on the couch together or hold hands or hug. Even when I was little, I sometimes had the impression I was living in an emotional vacuum, even though I didn't know how to verbalize the feelings. One night, when I was twelve, I remember wandering downstairs to get a late night can of soda, and I found my mother sitting at the kitchen table. She was wearing a bathrobe, and she was drinking vodka and pineapple juice. I could tell she'd been crying, so I asked her why. And in a rare moment of intimacy, she told me how lonely life could be if you were with someone who only had part of your attention. She told me that when I fall in love, I should make sure it's with someone who'll love me passionately and will want me and only me.

Whatever Mark does to me, I know he loves me. And I know he's faithful to me. When we're not fighting, our love is so beautiful and passionate. I've waited a long time to find this. I thought I'd found it with Brett, before he died on me. But I have it now, and I'm not giving it up.

Mark nuzzles my cheek. "I think I'll take you to the ER, Tim."

I let out a breath. "Okay."

About then, I hear a banging at the door. What the hell? I usually don't get company, let alone at one in the morning.

"Ignore it," Mark says, closing his eyes.

I'm about to nod in agreement when I hear, "Police. Open up."

Suddenly, the throbbing in my ribs spreads to my head and neck. This can't be happening. "We gotta get it, Mark."

Mark pales. "All right," he says. "Just lie still."

Wincing, I twist my neck so that I can see the door. I should probably ditch the ice bag and join him, but I'm too freaking worn out.

To be honest, I'm surprised no one's called the cops on us before. We can get kind of loud when we fight. Not to mention that my neighbors have been whispering back and forth about Mark and me ever since he moved in.

Running his fingers through his hair, Mark trudges toward the door. He glances back at me, takes a breath, and opens the door. "Hi, officers," he says. "Can I help you?"

Two uniformed officers are standing in the hallway. From what I can see, one is a tall, thin, fiftysomething guy. The other is has pudgy cheeks, albino-blonde hair, and a seemingly-permanent smirk.

"Sir," the tall officer says, "We got a couple of calls about a possible domestic disturbance."

"Um, everything's fine here," Mark says. "We were roughhousing. I guess we got a little noisy."

The pudgy officer pipes up. "Are you alone right now, sir?"

Mark glances back at me. "No, my boyfriend is here."

The short pudgy officer cranes his neck around Mark's body and looks directly at me. When he sees me, he sneers.

Meanwhile, the taller officer says, "Sir, we're going to need to come in, ask you a few questions."

Mark nods and backs into the living room. "Absolutely. I can understand." I say.

As the officers advance into the living room, I shove the ice bag under the couch and pull myself into a standing position. "What's going on?" I ask.

Mark bounds over to me. "Timmy, I guess we got too noisy for the neighbors. They want to talk to us."

The tall officer nods. "I'm Officer Marshall. This," he gestures to his partner, "is Officer MacDonald."

With his uninjured hand, Mark pats me on the back. "I'm Mark Keller. This is my boyfriend, Tim Speedle."

Officer MacDonald narrows his eyes at me. With a smirk, he asks, "You and your…boyfriend roughhouse often?"

Mark pipes up, "We're guys being guys."

MacDonald lets out a derisive laugh.

Glaring at his partner, Marshall says, "We received multiple complaints from your neighbors. They expressed some concern that someone might be injured. They said this kind of disturbance has happened before."

Mark laughs. "We're both fine. Our one neighbor, he gripes about it every time Timmy gets on his bike to go to work. Says he's disturbing the peace." He holds up his hand. "I smacked my hand into the wall, that's all."

Internally, I groan. Leave it to Mark to let the officers know _he's _injured.

Marshall gazes at Mark's black-and-blue hand. Then, he turns to me. "And you, sir? Are you okay?"

"I'm good," I lie. Standing up is becoming intolerable. My ribs are bawling me out with every breath. Swallowing, I fold my arms across my chest and shift my body so that my weight is resting on my left leg. But, the slight movement allows a sharp hiss to escape from my mouth.

At the noise, Officer Marshall glances up. "Sir, are you sure you're all right?"

Mark answers for me. "He's fine."

Officer Marshall shoots Mark a look and then turns toward me. "Sir?"

"I'm okay," I say. What else can I say?

I take a few steps back so that I can lean my aching body against the wall by the entertainment center. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice my badge sitting beside the television. Damn. When Marshall and MacDonald figure out I'm a cop, they're…what are they supposed to do? Notify a supervisor, I think. That would be H. Damn. I can't go through this tonight.

Marshall glances between us. I'm guessing he's trying to decide who, if anyone, is the victim. "You want to sit down and talk about something?" Marshall asks. He stares at me with what I'm sure he means to be compassion, but it comes out as pity.

I glance at MacDonald. He's glaring at me, his nearly-white eyebrows gathered bush-like above his eyes. After a moment, he turns to his partner. "Rick, can I talk to you?"

"Excuse me a moment," Marshall says, and he and MacDonald walk a few feet away.

I can't hear the whole conversation, but I hear MacDonald say something about "those kind of people." Marshall shushes him once or twice, and then he finally walks back to me. From the look on Marshall's face, MacDonald pissed him off just enough that he might push this thing just to spite his partner. I am ten kinds of screwed if he pushes this.

Officer Marshall stops directly in front of me. "Sir, I need a little help understanding what happened here, tonight."

"Officer," Mark says, smiling broadly. "We were messing around."

"Sir," Marshall says. "With all due respect, I'd like to talk to your friend, here. Why don't _you_ talk to my partner?"

Clenching his jaw, Mark does as he's told, leaving me alone with Marshall. After Mark is out of earshot, Marshall says, "Sir, was this a fight—"

"We were messing around," I say. "We were wrestling."

Marshall let out a breath, but I'm not sure if it's out of defeat, or maybe relief. "Well, if that's true—"About then, his eyes drift toward my badge.

I'm so screwed.

Cranking up my nerve, I scoop up my badge. "I probably should've mentioned this earlier," I choke. "I'm with the Miami Dade Crime Lab. _Detective_ Tim Speedle."

Marshall relaxes. "You work for the redhead?"

I nod. "Yeah. Horatio Caine."

"Huh," Marshall says. "I worked on a case with him. Good guy."

"You gonna have to call him?" I'm shaking like a leaf, and I know it. If H shows up here tonight, everyone will know what's been going on. I'm already the cop who didn't clean his gun; now I'll be the cop who can't defend himself against his tree-hugger boyfriend. I can't do this. I just can't do this. "Nothing happened here tonight," I say to Marshall.

Glancing over his shoulder, Marshall says, "Something happened here tonight. I'm just not sure what."

"No crime was committed here," I say. "Just two guys acting stupid. It's a misunderstanding." I lean closer to Marshall. "We were roughhousing."

Rubbing his chin, Marshall lets out a breath. He stares at me for an excruciating moment, and then he yells over his shoulder. "Lee, I think this is a misunderstanding. Just a false alarm."

MacDonald smirks, as though he's just won a prize. "Sounds good, Ricky."

Marshall turns to me. "I'm not going to file a report on this. Consider it a courtesy, okay?"

"Yeah," I say, out of breath.

"We'll just say it was a false alarm. Neighbors getting antsy," he says. Patting me on the shoulder, he whispers, "This isn't the kind of thing you want to get around the department."

"No, sir," I say, shaking my head.

Marshall jerks his head toward the door. "Let's go, Lee. We've taken up too much of these boys' time."

As we watch the officers disappear out the door, Mark walk up behind me and places a hand my upper arm. He kisses me on the top of the head. "That was close," he says. "Can't believe someone called the cops."

"Yeah," I say. My whole body is trembling, and it's getting worse as the reality of what just happened, and what could've happened, hits me. And it's all I can do to keep from collapsing onto the ground.


End file.
